To his delight, she was peeling her dress over her head when he turned back to the bed. She balled up the silk and threw it aside, then looked at him fiercely. Her voice burned into him. “Come to me, my dragon, and make a child.”
She lay down on the bed, her eyes wild and eager. Mykh crawled up between her legs and leaned over her. She reached up and pulled him down to her, his hair spilling over them both. He held himself a little aloof and rubbed himself over her breasts, teasing her tender skin with his chest fur. Her nipples peaked into hard rubies and his own were as tight. His eyes closed and his rod leaped, as he repeated the caress again and again while she writhed under him.
“My woman,” he growled and lifted her legs up over his arms. “My little sorceress,” he insisted.
Her sapphire eyes widened as he opened her for his taking, a position that increased her vulnerability even as it prepared her to take him deeply within her. His rod swelled at her closeness and his balls ached in readiness.
“Mine,” he said again and dared her to deny it.
“Yours,” she agreed and stretched her legs farther over his arms. “Damn it, will you just get down here and give me a baby!” she snarled.
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Then he watched her as he placed his shaft at the center of her woman’s flower and thrust into her, memorizing every nuance of her joy at being filled. She wriggled and tilted her hips until his rod slid home the last fraction into her, resting so deeply within her that their intimate hairs twined together.
Mykh’s breath rasped his lungs as he tried to regain his discipline. The boredom that had always threatened him, when sporting with the jewels, was long gone. Now he felt like a youngling, more full of burning seed than cool wisdom. Corinne’s hot sweet sheath fluttered around him and the last bit of deliberation fled.
Dragonfire boiled up in him as he thrust into her in the staccato rhythm of a male in rut. She gasped under him while her hips fought to pull him in and her nails racked his back, leaving a burning trail that incited him more. “Mine,” he grunted and thrust. “Mine!”
She shrieked as she climaxed, her blue eyes flying wide open as her back arched and her arms flung up and over her head. She was totally abandoned to the moment, entirely his. Her sheath tightened around him and pulsed.
Mykh’s yang power erupted up from the base of his spine, flooded his balls, and then rushed up his rod into her fiery cavern, finding her yin power. He roared like a bull as he filled her, blind and deaf to everything else in that moment. He collapsed onto her afterwards, ecstasy’s final waves rippling through him.
They tumbled into sleep together, entwined in a single sweaty knot of skin and tangled hair.
It was almost midnight when Mykh and Corinne emerged from the tent, ready to consider the world beyond its shelter. Water filled the harbor, its quiet waves a gentle counterpoint to the day’s tumult. Khyber and Svetlhana still flew, their path marked by the fireworks he tossed into the air.
Corinne settled on Mykh’s lap, her head leaning against his shoulder as they watched the skies. He’d created a nest of pillows and rugs on the stairs, then brought food and wine. Mazur slept by the fire Mykh had built by the tent, too well-fed to move. Bonfires on the shoreline showed other couples watching the spectacle.
Khyber circled back over the island and blew a set of enormous rings, outlined in fire, not smoke. Then he glided through them, with Svetlhana stretched along his spine on her back and a paw lifted in bliss. “Magnificent, darling” drifted back on the breeze.
“The priests say,” Mykh murmured, “that if a man and woman, who truly want a child, see the Imperial Dragon and Tigress mate during the Goddess’s Dance, then their child will be blessed by the gods with health, happiness, and prosperity.”
“Health, happiness, and prosperity? Sounds good to me.” She kissed his hand, then the amber pendant around her neck.
“Aye. Many of my people shall be favored with such children this night.” He kissed her head.
“Like this one?” Corinne caught his hand and placed it over her stomach.
He froze. “A babe?” he managed, joy blazing through him.
“I can see his lifespark clearly,” Corinne assured him.
“A son,” Mykh breathed as tears welled up. He felt as high in the sky as Khyber’s flight.
“Another Dragonheart.” Corinne smiled.
“I hope he’s a sorcerer,” Mykh mused. High magic would be very useful for Torhtremer’s High King, if only to summon Khyber more speedily.
Corinne gasped then pulled his head down for a kiss. They were panting in passion’s aftermath before either of them tried to form another sentence.
The three victors dined on the terrace under the early morning sun. The tide had turned with another dramatic tsunami, albeit smaller than that which had brought the White Horses. Mazur lapped his milk from an ornate silver bowl, studiously ignoring the giggles and murmurs coming from his humans.
“Will you grant me a boon, sweeting?” Mykh rumbled, nuzzling her hair.
“Of course, darling,” Corinne purred, tilting her head into his caress.
“If you see a way to make Alekhsiy happy with your author’s magic, please take it. He has earned some joy in his life.”
“I’d be glad to, darling.” She leaned up to kiss him, pleased that he accepted the author side of her magic. “Might as well exercise my plotting talents here. And you can relax about Junior’s future: nobody back on Earth can write anything about Torhtremer if I’m gone, according to my will. So nobody’s going to be jerking our son around to get a good book.”
Mykh chuckled and kissed her back. “ ’Tis a mercy that no one can try to change our world. I would have torn out the guts of anyone who tried.”
Khyber glided in for a landing on the terrace, neatly folding his wings and tail. Svetlhana yawned and slid off his back, then began a series of stretches.
“Good morrow, friends,” Mykh greeted them.
“A good morrow to you. And congratulations on your coming son,” Khyber responded, sounding very pleased.
“Thank you,” Mykh accepted.
Corinne glanced up at him and wondered if all fathers-to-be looked as if they’d created the baby by themselves. And would he still be half as smug during his son’s birth?
Svetlhana prowled across the terrace and settled into a square of sunlight. “Darling,” she purred.
“Yes, dear?” Khyber sounded even more besotted than he had the night before.
“Take our catalysts to see her sister.”
“What!” Corinne sprang to her feet, Mykh just behind her. He wrapped an arm around her protectively.
“Can you do that safely?” Mykh demanded.
“Yes, of course,” Khyber answered, sparing him a glance. “It would be easy enough to protect both of you and the baby from any harm.” He looked back at the white tigress. “But will my dearest be well in my absence?”
Svetlhana shrugged. “Of course. Young cousin here can tell me all the gossip while we wait. If we exhaust that diversion, I may go south for a few games with the red phoenix. It’s been centuries since I tweaked his feathers.”
“Svetlhana,” Khyber rumbled warningly. “You wouldn’t dare cause trouble.”
She gave him a disgusted look. “I would indeed dare, but you will never give me the chance. You will probably return within five minutes, after becoming a hero by rescuing her sister. And I will have to forgive you for having adventures without me,” she sniffed.
“Thank you!” Corinne diverted them quickly. She hugged Khyber and Svetlhana, then stooped to kiss Mazur.
“Ready, sweeting?” Mykh asked, settling Dragon’s Breath into its sheath on his back. He looked exactly as he had in Corinne’s fancy living room.
She smiled at him. “Always, beloved.”
Bound by the Dream
ANGELA KNIGHT
ONE
It seemed every atom in Celeste’s body was torn apart and
ground up with those of her impossible captor, then sent shooting into the darkness in a molten stream of light.
Until something caught the light, ruthlessly shredded it into atoms and molecules, and jammed them together again into two separate, quivering bodies. Her own howl of agony was the first sound she heard.
She took a mental inventory and found everything was there—arms and legs, head and body, Jarred Varrain’s massive arms clamped around her with desperate strength. She felt him stumble as his feet hit something solid. Powerful hands lost their grip, and he dropped her.
Celeste slammed against something hard. She didn’t even have time to yelp before her stomach went into violent spasms of rebellion. Fighting to keep its heaving contents, she saw Jarred reel away from her to brace against the nearest wall. He looked as green as she felt.
When she thought she could speak without losing control of the evening’s pizza, she gasped, “What the flaming hell was that? Where are we?”
“Dimensional gate,” he grunted. “Mykhayl’s magic created it. We jumped through to my universe.”
Well, they definitely weren’t in Celeste’s apartment anymore. Around them lay a long, narrow room built of three brushed-steel bulkheads that met overhead in a curving ceiling. The fourth wall was a transparent viewport awash in stars, which the ship’s speed blurred into smears. In the middle of the chamber sat a recliner-style chair surrounded by a semicircular workstation studded with sleek, strange controls.
Yet the alien environment was as familiar to Celeste as her own living room. They stood on the bridge of Jarred’s ship, Garr’s Vengeance.
She squeezed both eyes shut and denied everything. “There is no such thing. There’s no such thing as dimensional gates, or magic—or Mykhayl, for that matter. And I know damn well I made you up. None of this is real.”
“Oh, but it is.” Celeste opened her eyes again as he straightened away from the bulkhead, the greenish tint fading from his skin with a rapidity that she, fighting her own stomach, could only envy.
Of course, she thought, with the automatic logic of a writer who’d been treating her character as real for years. He probably had his computer bring it under control. With all those microscopic cyber-implants in his brain and studded throughout his body, there wasn’t much that could keep Jarred down for long.
Oh, God. The truth hit Celeste with all the force of a runaway bus. She shot a horrified stare at the viewport and its streaming stars. This is real, she thought numbly. This is really happening. Somehow, as impossible as it was to believe, she’d been transported into a universe where Jarred Varrain actually existed. It was the only explanation. Besides, if I’d been crazy enough to have hallucinations this detailed, I’d have been hearing voices or talking to little pink rabbits long before now . . .
“Oh, it’s real,” Jarred told her in a menacing growl. “And so am I.” He started toward her with the long, fluid stride that reminded her uncomfortably of his cyborg strength. Hastily, she struggled to her feet, though it wasn’t easy with her hands bound.
“What . . .” The word came out as an embarrassing squeak that forced Celeste to clear her throat. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.” His grin held absolutely no humor. “But just to clarify the point, you spent the past ten years making my life a living hell. Now I’m going to return the favor.”
Her mind flashed to Varrain’s Curse. Not to mention Varrain’s War, Varrain’s Vengeance, Varrain’s Quest, and all the other books she’d written about Jarred over the past decade. She remembered his suffering when he’d been captured and tortured by the reptilian Zris, his rage when the woman he loved had betrayed him—and his agonized grief when he’d found his best friend’s broken body after a Rekan general had murdered Garr for revenge.
Celeste’s mouth went completely dry. Hastily, she scuttled back from his menacing approach. “Was there . . .” She licked her fear-parched lips as she looked up into those dark, furious eyes. “Was there a Garr?”
A muscle worked in his sculpted jaw. “Yes. There was a Garr.”
She wanted to throw up again. “You think I made it happen.”
“I know you made it happen.” His handsome face went cold and rigid with an expression she’d described a dozen times.
It was his executioner’s face.
“That’s impossible,” she whispered, feeling a scream of hopeless terror building deep in her mind. With his superhuman strength, he could literally tear her apart with his bare hands. “How could I influence events in another universe? Okay, maybe I . . . saw it somehow, but that doesn’t mean . . .”
“You planned it before it happened, Celeste,” he growled, stalking her. “I heard you discuss it all with that sister of yours. I listened to you lay out his death in detail. And when I tried to keep it from happening, you made sure it did anyway. You helped that bastard K’charit torture him to death.”
Oh, God. I’m dead, she thought, as her knees threatened to buckle. He was going to kill her just as he had his murderous Rekan enemy.
A particularly vivid passage from Varrain’s Vengeance flashed through her mind. Jarred had forced General K’charit into the airlock, then coldly blown him into space. She remembered the book’s description of the villain’s death as he drowned in his own freezing blood, lungs and eyeballs bursting in the pitiless vacuum.
Celeste stared hopelessly at Jarred. He was a good ten times stronger than an ordinary human male his size—and given just how big he was, that was saying something. She didn’t have a prayer in hell of fighting him off, especially with her hands bound. “I didn’t know,” she whispered, backing away again. “I thought I was making it up. I never would have . . . I liked Garr, I . . .”
“Shut up.” His big hands closed around her shoulders and pulled her against his hard, armored body. Instinctively she writhed in his hold, but his grip tightened until she had no choice except surrender.
Panting with fear, Celeste went still as she stared up into his face, desperate pleas for mercy gathering on her tongue. She bit them back. Begging always disgusted him. Besides, she didn’t want to die a coward.
“Your pistol,” she said hoarsely, blinking hard against the tears of pure terror she could feel gathering behind her lids. “If you’re going to . . . do it, please use the pistol. I had nightmares about that airlock scene for weeks after I wrote it.”
“Airlock?” He looked confused, then stiffened as he realized what she meant. Discomfort flickered in his eyes, but it quickly vanished into the hard, implacable mask he always wore with his enemies. “I have no intention of killing you. You won’t pay your debt to me that quickly—or that easily.”
She sagged against him in stunned relief before convulsively jerking herself upright again. “But if you’re not going to execute me, what do you . . .”
His mouth crushed down over hers.
It was a rapacious kiss, hungry, predatory, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as he released her shoulders to slide an arm around her waist. He tasted of masculinity and some sweet, alien spice. One big hand found the tight curve of her rump as the other claimed her breast—long fingers squeezing, roughly at first, then more gently as if he reined in his lust and set himself to seduce.
Celeste froze. As impossible was it was to believe, she was being manhandled by Jarred Varrain, the dark hero of her dreams.
She giggled against his mouth.
It was a giddy, nervous reaction as much as anything else, but it made him jerk back to glare down at her. His black eyes narrowed. “Am I amusing you?”
“Varrain, did you bring me here to have sex?” She couldn’t seem to control her grin. Judging from his offended frown, he didn’t realize it was largely a product of relief.
“I brought you here to pay,” Jarred snapped, shoving her back, bending over and effortlessly jerking her across his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Would you prefer to do it by sailing out the airlock?”
/> Head down, she eyed his muscled butt as he carried her from the Vengeance’s bridge and down the corridor she knew led to his quarters. The hero of her fantasies was carrying her off for hot sex. “No, this is fine.” She giggled again. “Feel free to punish me as much as you want.”
“The way De’Lar and I punished that little Rekan spy?” he asked in a silky rumble, one hand coming to rest possessively on her butt.
Celeste blinked, jolted out of her relief by shock. “I didn’t publish that!” The words emerged as an embarrassingly high squeak. “That really happened?”
“Every single thrust.” He laughed, the sound masculine and just slightly sinister. Long fingers traced the cleft of her rump suggestively.
She swallowed. The books being science fiction, she’d never written a sex scene with Jarred. But after finishing Varrain’s Betrayal last year, she’d decided to try her hand at erotica with a short story about what he did to Ayla, the story’s treacherous love interest. She’d never intended for that story to see the light of day.
Yet it seemed it had, at least in Jarred’s universe.
Licking her lips, she looked up from her head-down position over his shoulder just in time to see an open doorway as he strode past. She got a glimpse of a broad fluidmat bed she recognized from her books, but he didn’t stop.
“Wasn’t that your quarters?” Celeste asked, shifting as she tried to relieve the pressure of his hard shoulder digging into her belly.
“Yes.” Jarred’s tone was mocking. “You don’t really think I’d put you in my cabin, do you?”
But then he strode past the ship’s two guest quarters, too, along with the one that had been Garr’s. Celeste frowned. This particular real-life fantasy was rapidly taking on a sinister edge. “Then where are you taking me?”
“Where do I usually take prisoners?”
As she jerked around and craned her neck to see where they were going, he stepped through a doorway into the huge, echoing chamber that was the Vengeance’s brig.
Captive Dreams Page 19
