by Donna Grant
“Right,” Anson said with a snort. He then pointed to the magazine. “That came out after you told her no?”
“Rhi found pictures posted all over the Light castle.”
“So Rhi knows?”
Con gave a nod. “It was the same time she told me about her and Balladyn.”
“I was going to tell you I saw him kiss her. Is that why you didna kill him?”
“Aye.” Con rose and moved to stare out the window. “I couldna take him from her.”
Anson looked at Devon and held out his hand. She put her palm in his as they shared a smile. There was much the two of them needed to discuss. And he wasn’t at all sure how things would go.
He got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. As he guided Devon to the door, Anson recalled the conversation he’d overheard between Balladyn and Amdir.
Anson stopped at the door and looked back at Con. “Do you know someone named Mikkel?”
Con turned to the side. “Nay. Why?”
“I heard Balladyn say something to Amdir about Mikkel being involved with Kyvor.”
“We’ll have to settle up with Amdir soon enough.”
“I took care of that.”
Con’s lips softened into a quick smile. “Good.” Then he turned back to the window.
Devon gave a tug on Anson’s arm. He walked out of the office, closing the door softly behind him. Then he pushed his woman against the wall and took her lips in a fiery kiss.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
How had she ever lived without passion? As soon as Anson walked into her life, it was like Devon had been woken from a long sleep.
She groaned at the feel of his tongue meeting hers. Desire rose like a tidal wave. His large hands were splayed on either side of her head on the wall. She felt his arousal pressing against her stomach, causing her body to ache with need.
“Come,” he said huskily and reluctantly stepped back.
She licked her lips, tasting him on her. They hurried down the hall to the stairs. She looked down at her hand, wiggling her fingers against his. She remained beside him as they ascended to the top floor.
There were no words spoken as they made their way to the very end of the corridor. Nor when he opened the door and motioned her within.
She knew from the moment she stepped inside that it was Anson’s room. It was far different from the light and airy room she’d been shown to.
This chamber was utterly masculine from the dark wood used for the furniture to the various weapons placed around the room. Her gaze halted when she saw the sword hanging horizontally away from all the rest.
“Every King has a sword,” he said as he closed the door and came up beside her. “It’s what we use to battle each other in human form.”
She glanced at him, confused. “Why would you do that? Why not fight in your true form?”
“It’s always been the way.”
He took her hand and led her to the hearth where a fire blazed. She sat on the small sofa and watched as he went down on his haunches to stoke the fire. The flames danced high, causing sparks to shoot up. The red-orange glow lit his face and front half, while the rest of him was in shadows.
His tat drew her gaze. As she stared at the two dragons seemingly forever circling each other, she jerked and looked harder. Had they just moved?
As she scrutinized them, she saw them shift slightly. Her lips parted in amazement. She had to touch them—him. She scooted to the edge of the cushions and then pushed to her knees behind him.
There was no other choice for her but to put her hands on the tattoo. His flesh heated beneath her palms, and he stilled. Then she leaned forward and placed a kiss on the tat.
It was her way of letting him know that she accepted everything that he was as well as his world of magic. Her recognition only strengthened the bond between them. And she could feel it!
Anson turned to face her, his black eyes filled with happiness. The fire crackled between them. She slid her hands through his thick hair, letting the cool strands slip through her fingers.
“I don’t know how this happened,” she said.
He took her hand, watching, as he lifted it so they were palm to palm. Then his gaze returned to her face. “What?”
“This. Us,” she added.
His hand moved slightly so their fingers could interlock. With his gaze never leaving hers, he said, “I like this. Verra much.”
“I…,” she hesitated, faltering. She’d never wanted something as badly as she did Anson, and she didn’t want to ruin it by saying the wrong thing. “I don’t want this to end.”
“It doesna have to.”
“What I’m trying to say—badly—is that I-I love you.”
His lips curved into a sensual smile.
She waited for him to say something, anything. When he didn’t, she swallowed and glanced away, her heart pounding in fear that he didn’t feel the same. “Say something. Please. I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve here.”
“Shh,” he murmured as he pulled her against him before laying her back on the rug. “Words are no’ always needed.”
The desire shining in his dark eyes caused her breath to catch. Her body tingled with expectation. She knew what it was like to be loved by him, to have her body branded by his touch. She needed it like she needed air to breathe.
Effortlessly, he disrobed her until she was naked. Her chest rose and fell rapidly in anticipation. Her body pulsed with need, with a yearning that only he could deliver.
With deliberate slowness, he trailed his fingers between her breasts and down her stomach before moving back up again. His large hands massaged her breasts, never touching her nipples that stood erect, waiting for attention.
Her breasts swelled as he flattened a palm over aching tips, massaging. For what felt like hours, he teased her before finally pinching her nipples.
She let out a cry of pleasure. It was short-lived as his hands glided down her body to her stomach and hips and then to her thighs. Her body began to tingle all over. It was then that she realized she was nothing more than a vessel of sexuality meant only for him.
A slave of pleasure.
It was a role she gladly accepted.
The more his fingers slid over her body, the more she tried to shift her hips so he’d touch her mound. Time and again, he went around it, coming close, but never touching her.
She wanted to scream in frustration as every fiber of her being was centered on her womanhood. Then, he gently spread her legs. The air that met her swollen, wet folds caused her to gasp aloud. Then moan.
Still, he avoided the core of her desire as his fingers traced around her pelvis and across her legs until she thrust her hips.
Her breath locked in her chest when she spied him settling between her thighs. His movements were so slow, so deliberate as he lowered his face to her center, that it was almost too much to bear.
Desperation caused her to clutch at the rug as she impatiently waited for his touch. The anticipation bordered on pain. His gaze met hers. It was the promise of ecstasy in his eyes that caused her mouth to go dry.
Her clit twitched as his head lowered.
“Anson,” she whispered right before the first moment of contact.
With toes curled in pleasure, she cried out as his wet tongue lapped at her stiffened peak. The way he licked and suckled had her shivering with excitement.
The lips of her sex were parted and gently fondled. Within Anson’s arms, she felt worshipped. She reveled in the sexuality, in the decadence.
Desire tightened within her, bringing her close to peaking. As if sensing that, he rose up and flipped her onto her stomach. She moaned as he traced a finger down her spine to her butt before grasping her hips.
She bit her lip in eagerness when he raised her hips and held her steady. His stiff length brushed the inside of her leg before finding her entrance. Inch by inch, he slowly pushed inside her.
Devon curled her fingers in the rug and sighed as her body
stretched to accommodate him. His arousal slid rhythmically in and out of her.
She was spellbound, completely enraptured by the feelings within her. There was no doubt that she loved Anson. And knowing that she could totally lose herself to him gave her strength. It allowed her to lie there and accept the pleasure he gave her, because theirs was a connection that went beyond the physical.
The hard slap of his pelvis against her backside made her cry out for more. He thrust into her with brutal precision, giving her no other choice but to give in to the bliss that awaited them both.
His rough, masculine frame pressed against her heightened her desire, propelling her toward the building orgasm that she couldn’t contain.
“Say you’re mine,” he demanded.
“I’m yours. All yours. Only yours.”
His fingers dug into her hips as he pounded her harder. “Only mine.”
The climax swept through her suddenly. She screamed, her back arching even as he continued to thrust deeply. It extended her orgasm, her body convulsing and lost in a world of pleasure like no other.
The walls of her sex were still quivering when he drove deep inside her and stilled. She felt his seed fill her before he collapsed atop her and rolled them to the side.
She stared into the flames of the fire, unable to believe her life had taken such an unexpected turn. Despite all the terror and shock, she wouldn’t change a moment of it.
“I love you.”
Tears gathered in her eyes at Anson’s whispered confession. Now, her life was truly complete.
He rolled her onto her back and looked down at her. “I doona know how or why we were able to link our minds, but it only confirms what I’ve always known. You’re special, Devon Abrams. Because you were meant for me.”
“I do want to know how we were able to communicate telepathically, but it doesn’t matter right now because I have you.”
One side of his lips lifted in a smile. “I want you to be mine. Become my mate and live with me here. Because I am yours. All yours. Only yours.”
She thought her heart would burst, she was so happy. Devon threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. “Yes.”
“I doona want to wait,” he said, pulling back. A small frown puckered his brow in his seriousness. “You need to be sure. We doona divorce. Once a Dragon King is mated—”
“They mate for life,” she finished. “I know in my heart that we’re meant to be together. Even if I had doubts, what we accomplished at the Dark Palace says it all. Unless other mates can link to their Kings like I did with you.”
He shook his head, smiling. “None have ever been able to do that. It’s more than just our linking. You were fighting on your own.”
“I know. It was like my body and mind absorbed everything you were doing. I can’t explain it.”
“Magic can no’ always be explained.”
“Like love.”
“Love is magic,” he said and kissed her.
Yes, love was magic. How had she ever thought that magic didn’t exist? None of that mattered now. She knew the truth—the whole, beautiful truth.
And she would protect it.
“Is it over with Kyvor?”
“From what I learned, aye,” he replied. “They’ll find Harriett soon enough.”
“And the Druid.”
He blew out a breath and lay on his back. “And the Druid. It seems we gain a new enemy at every turn.”
“I suspect they’ve been in the shadows for some time. They’re just now showing themselves, thanks to Ulrik.”
He turned his head to her. “Did you ever hear the name Mikkel?”
“Mikkel,” she repeated. “I don’t believe so. Why?”
“Ulrik wasna responsible for Kyvor.”
That made her rise up on an elbow and look down at him. “I know that’s what you told Con, but are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“Then we need to find this Mikkel.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him. “That will come soon enough. Tonight, you’re all mine.”
There were no more words as his lips took hers.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Just Not that Into Him
Rhi needed to get her mind off Balladyn. Seeing him fighting Con had infuriated her. Mainly because she thought he was coming to see her side when it came to the Dragon Kings. Obviously, she was wrong.
She heard Balladyn call to her again.
And she ignored him. Again.
Before they had a confrontation, she needed to calm down as well as put some space between them. She walked through Dreagan Manor, bypassing groups of Warriors, Druids, and Dragons.
Phelan gave her a questioning look, but she wasn’t up to admitting to him who her current lover was. It would lead to other questions—ones she wasn’t in any way prepared to answer.
She saw something out of the corner of her eye right before she nearly barreled into a chest. When she looked up, Rhys was smiling down at her.
“Ugh. What?” she asked in irritation with a roll of her eyes. The look on his face told her she wasn’t going anywhere until he got whatever it was he wanted.
And Rhys was as stubborn as they came.
He turned and wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward one of the rooms where a couple of mates were gathered around a laptop. “I thought this might interest you.”
She shot him a look. “Why?”
“It’s a bet we have going.”
“We?” she asked, raising a brow.
Rhys shrugged. “The Kings and Warriors. Broc isna allowed to be involved since he might use his powers. Neither are the Druids.”
“And the mates?”
His smile widened. “They have their own wager going.”
One of her worst qualities—or best, depending on how you looked at it—was her curiosity. And Rhys knew it. Damn him.
Yet it was the perfect way for her to keep her mind off Balladyn.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A blog.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s all you’ve got for me. Really? A blog?”
Rhys laughed and walked her into the room. “Just wait.”
As they entered, Kinsey looked up from the laptop and motioned Rhi closer. Jane scooted over to make room while she and her sister, Sammi, continued their debate.
Rhi eyed them. What could this blog be to have caused such an uproar? She sat and looked around at Sophie, Faith, and Rachel, who looked at her expectantly.
Kinsey pointed to the screen. “This is a blog Devon visits daily. Esther and I went back and read from the beginning. Everyone around the world is trying to figure out who this woman is.”
“What does she write about?” Rhi asked. “Sex?”
Esther walked into the room carrying a newly opened wine bottle to the cheers of everyone. “Something we can all relate to. Dating.”
Rhi accepted the glass of wine from Esther and looked to the doorway where Rhys was deep in conversation with Henry. By Henry’s angry expression, Rhys was doing his best to get the mortal to move on from his infatuation with her.
It saddened Rhi that she’d brought such misery to Henry, all because she’d felt lonely. One kiss had changed everything for him, while doing nothing for her. She wished she could love him. Henry was a good man. The kind of man who would never leave her, the kind of man who would always be there.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
Henry stormed away angrily, and Rhys returned to the group of men who were trying to figure out why the Dark hadn’t taken the bait in Dublin.
It did seem strange. Perhaps she should look into it. Balladyn would know.
She sighed. There she was thinking of him again.
“Rhi,” Kinsey said. “Read this.”
Her attention turned back to the women as the laptop was given to her. She looked at the name of the blog: The (Mis)Adventures of a Dating Failure. Then her gaze scrolled down to the new
est post.
Just Not That Into Him
* * *
Ladies, we’ve all been there. When a man is interested in us, but we don’t return the sentiment. I get that it takes some nerve to walk up and ask someone out.
But why can’t we say no and they accept it? Why must some of them ask us for our number so they can call/text us later? As if we’ll change our minds?
For instance, I’m at the market a few days ago, checking out the apples. I can’t ever decide between green or red. I mean, there are so many options, and I love them all. I really don’t think the clerk would appreciate me buying one of every kind.
Anyway, I’m going back and forth in my decision when a man walks up. I see him, but after a particularly bad date the night before, I don’t want any encounters with the opposite gender at the moment.
I’ll give him credit. He was persistent. When I didn’t immediately notice him, he made sure to keep walking around the apples, hoping I would. He even went so far as to make some comments about the produce.
After ten minutes of this, I just wanted it to stop. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of answering him. I mean, I’m a nice person. I don’t like to intentionally be rude. (side note here: sometimes you have to be mean to get your point across—and that’s another blog post entirely. Is it sad that I can write about all of this? I think it is. )
I gave him a brief, I’m-just-being-nice-because-that’s-how-I-was-raised smile. He took that as an invitation to follow me around the store. I even went and stood at the tampons hoping he’d go away.
It didn’t even faze him.
Matter of fact, he pointed out the kind his sister liked to use.
I. Kid. You. Not.
By this time, I’ve realized my mistake. But it’s too late. He must’ve guessed I was about to run for the hills because then he asked me out to dinner.
It was a bold move. Most men I’ve just met will ask me to coffee or for my number, but not straight to dinner. So, I give him props for that.
Now it’s my move. I face him and look him in the eye. I figure he deserves that much. And then I politely decline the offer with a, “No, thank you.”
I’ve been known to make up things like having a boyfriend, being a lesbian, or any number of other excuses to decline a date. The fact that I’ve always felt the need to lie instead of being truthful has bothered me for a long time.
