What would he do to her if he could get close? Would he be rough, pounding into her with all his Dracae strength? Her breasts tingled, her thighs parted. But it couldn’t happen.
He didn’t sign anything more. Instead, he leaned his head toward Dragon.
A new line of color traveled down the beast’s head and neck to his tail as he slid off the concrete deck and into the crystal clear water. Dragon imitated the pool’s fiber optics as the pool imitated him.
He made no splashes. The surface of the water parted as if cut by a knife and the beast slipped below, gliding like an arrow down its length.
Rysa tensed, moving away from the glass partition, and flattened against the back wall of the hot tub. What if her calling scents affected him under water? What if he drowned?
But her present-seer shoved aside her sudden fear. It went down kicking and screaming, but her seers finally did something nice—showed her the truth.
Water washed away the calling scents. Not completely, but enough.
Dragon pressed his snout against the glass.
Turn off the bubbles, Ladon signed. Let us see you.
She patted along the rim of the tub, feeling for the controls. In front of her, in all his dragon glory, the beast rolled under the water, spinning around and around like a sideways whirlpool. On the edge of the pool, thirty-five feet away, Ladon unzipped his jeans.
The bubbles stopped. Silence dropped over the yard, punctuated only by the chirping of insects and the rustling of small creatures. She breathed, hoping to catch some of Ladon’s scent, but she only smelled the desert night.
Tentatively, she touched the glass between her and Dragon, her fingers gliding over his snout. An image flickered into her mind: roses, and silk. He wanted her touch as much as Ladon did.
“Oh, Dragon,” she whispered.
He pulled back, keeping his head and neck under the water, but moved so she could see his big claw-hands. Come out, he signed. Please.
Ladon signed it, too.
Rysa stood up, naked and suddenly cold. Water dripped off her shoulders, her breasts, her elbows and belly. It ran along the insignia around her neck and into her cleavage. It clung to her nipples before dropping to the previously hidden insignia tied to her thigh.
You are exquisite, Ladon signed.
His face changed. His determination still focused completely on her, but he now saw his goal and he blinked, awed.
She didn’t know how to feel. Didn’t know what to say. Nothing he did seemed forced or artificial. Every single one of his responses came from deep inside his body, from his core. From below decision-making. What Ladon offered was purely him, and purely, rawly male.
A groan rolled from his chest and across the water, to her ears. “Come out.”
She stepped across the lip of the hot tub onto the stairs descending into the main pool. Dropping, she breathed in, filling her lungs to capacity, and dove.
Dragon moved closer. Directly in front of her, within arm’s reach, the beast twisted his head from one side to the other, poking his snout closer before pulling back.
She reached for him, her arm pushing against the resistant water, but he pulled away, sliding in an odd backward stroke away from her.
It wasn’t working. Not even the water could wash away enough of her calling scents for Dragon to be safe next to her. She pushed away her seers, refusing to allow them to confirm the obvious.
The weight of the water suddenly pressed down on her as if she’d been buried. As if she couldn’t move and it sucked at her skin and she’d die down here, under the surface, away from her Dragon and her man.
But the beast spoke to her in colors. Please come up.
Rysa pushed off against the bottom of the pool, against the glowing glass and the shimmering optics and pushed herself out of the phantasm pretending to wrap her in Dragon’s lights. Pushed herself up to breathe the air she couldn’t share.
The cold night breeze slapped her hard as she filled her lungs again, feeling the pressure of her held breath dissipate. She pushed her hair back, clearing her eyes.
At the other end of the pool, Dragon surfaced. He arced through the water, puffs of mist blowing out his nostrils as if he were a sea serpent.
But it was Ladon who held her attention. Ladon, now as naked as she was, glowed in the pool’s light, a god of the ocean. His desire for her grand and brilliant and obvious across his entire body, he focused on her and only her as he and the beast flung massive amounts of information to each other across their river of energy.
Rysa reached out her hand. He had to come close, even if only for a second. Even if only for one, single touch.
“Ladon,” she whispered.
One foot moved backward, then his other, then the first again. He moved away, not closer, and Rysa’s body ached in response. Ached as if she rode a twirling carnival ride, the whipping kind that could make a fighter pilot vomit.
Ladon inhaled and his chest bowed out. He sprang forward and pushed off the lip of the pool, his dive first curving up in a beautiful, athletic arc. When he hit the water, he’d already covered half the distance between them.
He slammed into her hard enough she flew toward the wall of the pool. But he wrapped his arms around her waist and he steadied her movement, keeping her head above the water and her back off the tiles.
Still totally submerged, he kissed her breasts, her nipples, her shoulders. He touched—and he held on. Water slid between them, over their skin, pressing them apart, but Ladon pressed back, held her against the wall, his entire body along hers.
Firm muscles so taut he shuddered pumped against her belly, the water humming with him.
Maybe she thought a few Oh, Gods or let out a few low moans. Maybe she saw the stars overhead, just outside the awning’s edge. Maybe she heard the pool sloshing as Ladon spread her legs wide, his fingers gripping the leather thong holding the insignia tied around her left thigh. But all her mind registered—all her seers and her healer knew—was her man hunched against her breasts and hips, his face buried under the water and against her collarbone.
He propped his feet against the wall, one hand gripping the pool’s concrete ledge and the other the leather around her thigh. Gripping her tight, he pulled her legs around his waist.
Her entire body rippled, mimicking the waves fluttering through the water. She bounced against the world like the water bounced against the side of the pool. Ladon pressed against her entrance, against her clitoris, and she almost screamed. Almost came right then, missing him so much it almost ruptured from her body and split open her soul.
She pulled him closer, pulled him up, so he’d have to move into her. He’d have to enter her. Even for a brief moment. Even if it only lasted a second.
Ladon thrust.
Rysa hollered, her arms around his shoulders, her fingers holding his head under the water. He couldn’t breathe her, but he could have her.
Ladon thrust again.
He touched for more than a second. Her man, bigger, she swore, than before, harder, thrust.
The raw carnal need rolling through the energy he shared with Dragon submerged Rysa’s last remaining thoughts. This, with Ladon, their bodies slipping weightlessly against each other, filled her completely. He filled her, harder and deeper than she thought possible, his face and mouth sliding over her breasts, leaving trails of heat the pool water could not wash away.
Her head rolled back and her vision dropped into a haze of dragon colors.
Ladon thrust again. His speed increased.
He took her, now, in this pool, thrusting with more Dracae strength than he’d ever had before. His hips crushed against hers. Waves lapped. He demanded his physical needs be met and it felt perfect.
Dragon glided against Ladon’s back and wedged himself between the hot tub and the wall of the pool, giving Ladon the leverage the water stole.
More thrusts, more Ladon, more of his skin slipping along hers. More of his heat and his body. More of his need.
>
A whimper escaped. Her voice folded into the sloshing of the water and the soft murmur of the pool’s systems, but her body pounded. One more of his hard thrusts and she’d thrash.
Ladon yanked away as fast as he’d thrust into her. He pushed off the wall and rolled onto his front, arcing over Dragon, and shot across the pool, to the other side.
He’d left her on the edge and her body screamed, needing him back. “Damn it!” she shouted, not able to stop herself, knowing very well she’d wake the neighbors if she wasn’t quiet. “Come back here!” She slapped the water.
Ladon gulped in air as he surfaced. His face crinkled up like her calling scents had settled dead in the air. Even the full length of the pool wasn’t far enough away for him to breathe.
A jolt flashed through her body’s ecstasy. The edge of her need turned abruptly painful, both unfinished and frightened at the same time. The water hadn’t been enough.
A shadow dropped over Ladon’s face. A dark look, one bordering on violence. One she knew called up things inside him he did not want surfacing in the modern world.
“Back against the wall,” he snarled low and deep, from the base of his throat. From an animal place. “Now.” His hand moved under the water as he stroked himself.
Ladon didn’t care about her calling scents or what they did to him. He was about to finish what he’d started, even if he ended up vomiting out his guts because of what her body spit out.
Her seers erupted, spitting tiny sparks without context.
From the future: Regret. Anger. A fight, but not with her.
From the past: Ladon and Dragon were not like this. Not with people they loved.
The present: Light washed around the side of the house.
AnnaBelinda pulled the second van into Bernard’s long driveway.
Chapter Seventeen
Sister. Dragon fired cutting pulses of irritation away from Ladon and toward the front of the house. They are early. The beast climbed out of the pool, moving with less grace than a dragon should, and stood on the concrete deck shifting his weight from one side to the other.
Words weren’t forming for Ladon. Or concepts.
He saw only the changing tension of Rysa’s muscles. Saw her bliss rupture into a wide-eyed stare.
He should care. But he didn’t. Her calling scents clouded everything he called “control” and he wanted her female shape. Her slick, hot, tight female shape.
Human!
Ladon filled his lungs.
And dove.
The water enveloped his head as he sliced under the surface. Its pressure against his erection only focused his vision on the naked woman on the other side of the pool. His woman. Her calling scents might haze his thinking and he tasted them as they lapped against his nostrils and tongue, but things surfaced. Rough things.
He didn’t care.
Two giant six-taloned claw-hands wrapped around Ladon’s waist and lifted him straight out of the water.
You will stop! Dragon tossed him toward the house. Rysa is frightened.
Ladon rolled once along the rough concrete patio, the surface biting into his skin. But he took the energy of the throw and landed in a crouch, itching to fight. Itching to make the beast pay for blocking his release.
Shredding whipped through his mind. Shred something. The truth beat from the bottom of his brain: Rip it down in a quick, pulsing rhythm. Cut it with thrusts. Because that’s all you are. It’s all you’ve ever been.
Ladon’s gut heaved. He almost vomited. He should vomit. Get it out. Because across the yard, in the pool—with her back against the wall of the hot tub and her arms wrapped around her chest—Rysa stared, doing her damnedest to not look terrified.
She looked away.
The haze lifted. Fully, completely, lifted off his mind, exhaled out with his breath and blown away into the clear New Mexico night.
What had he done? She moved toward the steps next to the hot tub. The pool water splashed, dripping off her naked body, and she lifted an arm off her chest so she could steady herself against the railing.
Her feet dragged through the water and she stopped at the top of the steps, alone and chilled, the pool’s glimmers dancing over her lovely form as if Dragon stood right next to her.
I’m sorry, she signed.
Rysa thought she did this? “Love!” Ladon called. “Rysa, please—”
She is not listening. Dragon nudged Ladon’s side. She is angry she cannot control her calling scents.
Tell her it’s not her fault. Ladon’s fingers curled into the beast’s coat. Please.
An image pulsed from Dragon, toward Rysa: Ladon and her, curled against the beast’s chest. Ladon’s joy filled the image, an added texture only a memory could have.
She looked away again.
Damn it, Ladon thought. What if this pulled all her issues to the surface again? She can’t think that. Tell her she can’t think that, he pushed to the beast.
The patio door slid open. Sister pushed aside the curtain and she looked first at Ladon, then at Rysa, her face hard and unreadable.
When Ladon looked back at the water, Rysa had vanished into the pool house. He stood on the patio concrete, bare to his bones and dripping wet, with his sister watching him in her concerned-yet-distant way. She wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t do anything. She’d let him wallow.
Sister is on the roof. Dragon whipped his body from head to tail and released the water clinging to his coat, spraying both Ladon and Sister.
Her nose crinkled and she stepped back into the shadows, but didn’t close the door. “Is she okay?” The curtain rustled again and Sister nodded toward the pool house. “She looks gaunt.”
Ladon’s head whipped around, but Rysa was nowhere to be seen. He heard water start up—she’d stepped into the pool house’s shower.
But Sister was correct—Rysa felt thinner. Her hip bones showed more than he considered healthy.
He’d been so focused on having her he hadn’t thought about her.
“Put on your clothes. Bernard has news.” The door slid closed.
I will stay outside. Dragon sniffed Ladon’s head. Please do not attempt to go to the street. The beast huffed and ambled over to the loungers, dropping onto the concrete deck halfway up the side of the pool—and just outside the range of Rysa’s scents.
Dragon wasn’t flicking him images, nor was he sharing his thoughts. But Ladon saw his own anger at himself mirrored in the beast’s movements. Dragon felt the same way he did.
They both should have known better.
I miss her as well, Human. Dragon laid his head on his forelimbs, saying nothing more.
Hollowness spun inside Ladon. His body felt vacant, even though the ache in his groin had turned painful. He could release it, but he didn’t want more emptiness.
Ladon glanced at the roof. Sister-Dragon spread herself out on the tiles and mimicked the night. A small flame curled from her mouth.
She didn’t acknowledge Ladon. She didn’t look down.
If you harass Rysa, I will thrash you, do you understand? I do not care if it would anger your human, he pushed.
Something pulsed from her brother, too quick for Ladon to catch.
Sister-Dragon stood. She balanced carefully so as not to damage Bernard’s roof, and turned her back to Ladon, her brother, and the pool house.
Sister will stay silent. Dragon snorted. The push had gone more toward the other beast than to Ladon.
“I’ll ask Derek to bring out more food. Make sure she eats.” Ladon walked to where he’d piled his clothes.
Yes. Something else flickered from the beast—as worry beyond her weight loss.
“What?” Ladon pulled on his boxer-briefs and his jeans. The pain in his groin distracted but the beast knew something else, so he ignored his own annoyed body. “Tell me.”
The beast paused, and snorted again. But the muscles under his ridges loosened.
She is not sleeping. Dragon rolled slightly and a fla
me flickered out of his mouth. I am not supposed to say.
Ladon stopped with his t-shirt wrapped around his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” They were keeping secrets?
She does not want you to worry.
Well, she was correct about him worrying. He pulled on the shirt. “‘Not sleeping’ as in only a few hours a night or ‘not sleeping’ as in not sleeping?” But Ladon knew. How many times over the past three days had Dragon seen her staring at the stars?
The last time she slept was before she fixed Derek. When Vivicus knocked her unconscious.
Her Shifter half was more than out of control. It was eating her alive.
Ladon knew exactly what was happening when the dread rolled through his gut. His body overcorrected against a threat he could only partially see. He braced for a battle against something he could not fight. Something that stalked all his women, but never in the same form. Never in the same body.
Death, the ultimate Shifter.
Rysa had been born into the modern world, in a modern place, the child of extraordinarily powerful parents. Of all the humans who had ever walked this earth, she should be the most protected. The safest. Yet she starved and fidgeted, exiled from those who could help.
From him. From Dragon.
We need to get to her. He didn’t mean to push it to the beast, but he all but yelled it in his head. They couldn’t lose her. They’d crack open, split by a lance thrust into their lives—bodies and souls—by a darkness neither Ladon nor Dragon wanted to see ever again.
When Vivicus took her, Ladon had glimpsed it again. It had spewed out of his psyche and slithered across the world as the shades he’d seen and smelled and felt. They’d coated not only his vision with writhing ghosts, but his tongue, too.
The approaching death tasted of dust and dirty mist. Of grayness and a hollow in the world. Of absence. With Rysa, the threat had also wormed down his throat. And he wondered if it had left something new behind, the way Vivicus had left something new in Rysa.
Ladon shook. Every muscle in his body spasmed, both from the residue of his desire and from his barely controlled responses.
Fifth of Blood Page 8
