by Alisa Woods
“You know, that’s how I felt when I broke the curse. Like, this might be it for me, but at least you would be free.”
His heart swelled so much with that, he couldn’t speak. Not even to send thoughts to her.
She breathed a soft laugh against his scales. “This love thing… holy fuck, it makes you do crazy things.”
Yes, it does. He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. He banked down toward the keep, still invisible to human eyes, but he could taste the magic of its cloak, nestled in a small valley far from where the humans normally traveled. Not least because of a forgetting spell that surrounded the place and made it literally impossible to find.
He plunged through the barrier of the cloak, and Rosalyn gasped in surprise when the keep magically appeared looming above them. It was ancient, serving the House of Smoke for millennia before he was born. Moss and vines were encroaching on the giant stone blocks that comprised the fortress-like monolith. It sat in the middle of the valley, large and square and imposing. Medieval in design, they hadn’t upgraded to much of the modern amenities, given they abandoned it a century ago. It was forbidding and weathered and dark.
The perfect place to hide.
And to mate.
Leonidas flew over the ramparts built thousands of years ago to keep out the demon hordes. Then he flew deeper into the keep, past the smaller quarters that were home to the many dragons of the House of Smoke, and toward one of the balconies protruding from the main keep in the center. His room. He remembered it, of course. He’d bedded many a maid here, a constant supply of which he sought out regularly in the more sophisticated salons of Paris. Or occasionally, he brought a farmer’s daughter, or more rarely a wife, and kept her for a night or two, spoiling her for any hapless farmer who wished to please her in bed, not that there were many of those. He taught the women to pleasure themselves, for he knew the fate of them in that time. Most begged to stay. Many fell in love with him. He’d never met any the likes of Rosalyn Thorne. She owned him body and soul. And he’d somehow won her heart.
But he still didn’t know if he could keep her.
He landed on the rough slate of his room’s balcony, folding his wings and banishing the blanket he’d conjured for Rosalyn. He knelt on the cold stone and bid her disembark. When she did, he quickly shifted human, conjured royal clothes, the traditional ones suitable for mating, and swept her up into his arms before her toes could become too cold on the rough stone flooring.
She grinned. “We’re not even married, and you’re carrying me across the threshold?”
He held her close, reveling in the ability to do that again, now that he wasn’t trapped in his wyvern form or flying over the country. “I want your feet warm for when I nibble on them in bed.” He gave her a wicked grin and magically opened the heavy glass-and-wood-carved door to his room. As he stepped inside, he added, “And if it’s marriage you want, my love, I’ll be at whatever altar you wish. Just say the word.”
She turned somber again. “I suppose we should.”
He magicked the door closed behind him. There were a hundred years of dust in the room, and the linens that covered everything were in tatters. He magically whisked the white protective sheets away to reveal the room. Rosalyn marveled at the high timber-lined ceilings, the oil artwork on the walls, and the imposing four-poster bed draped in lace, but it was a ghost of the original splendor of the place. He would have to magic up a bedroom worthy of their mating. And there was the small matter of her deciding she wanted this.
He set her down and brought her into his arms, just because he couldn’t stand for her to be any further away. “I’m a shifter, my love. A dragon prince, but a shifter nonetheless.”
She grinned impishly up at him. “You know what? I actually knew that.”
He kept his serious look because his heart was trembling. “You told me you could never love a shifter.”
Her smile evaporated, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. “I was wrong.”
“Your mother lost everything because she loved a shifter like me.” For the love of magic, these words were hard to get out. But he needed to be certain she was sure. “You’re a witch just now coming into your powers. You have a coven you could belong to. A home among your kind. And if you choose to be with me, you’ll lose all of it. Just like your mother.”
Uncertainty flashed across her eyes. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t mate with you?”
“I’m saying…” And he had to stop to swallow down his nervousness. “I’m saying that you have to know what you’re losing before you choose.”
She frowned. And didn’t answer right away, which threatened to shred his heart faster than any talons ever could.
“Think about it,” he said, voice thick. “You need to be sure.”
She gave him a small nod, just acknowledging his words, not making her choice. Not yet. Which put his heart in a vise that wouldn’t let him free—not until she chose.
He pulled in a steadying breath. “Well. I need to put some wards around this place, either way. And you would probably like to clean up, I’d imagine.”
She peered around the room with interest. “Do they even have showers in drafty old castles?”
He stepped back and magicked a large porcelain tub steaming with hot water.
“Wow,” she said, admiring it. “Nice trick.”
He conjured a mating gown as well—a delicate white and low-backed thing, just right for sealing—and draped it on a chair near the tub. Then he magicked a suit just like the one she was wearing, creamy and crisp and powerful, just like her… only without the soot and grime.
“There’s a ritual that precedes a mating,” he said softly. “Both the dragon male and human female bathe, washing away everything that is in their past, preparing for their new life together. Then they make love. No matter what you decide, you should bathe. I’ll set the wards, then do the same. When you’re done, if you’ve dressed in the mating gown, I’ll know you’ve chosen the hard path of being with me. Or you can put on the suit. If you do, then as soon as it’s safe, I’ll find a way to return you to your coven.”
She stared at him with those big, blue eyes. Then her gaze drifted to the steaming tub and the mating gown and cream suit nearby. He eased up to her and kissed her gently on the temple. She looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He laid a single finger across her lips to stop her. She could show him how she felt later—choosing her fate by choosing her attire. There were less definitive ways to show it, but he wanted to be absolutely certain.
Then he kissed her and left her to her decision.
The steam of the bath soothed her body, but Rosalyn’s mind was in turmoil.
She leaned her head back, immersing almost entirely, and just floated for a minute in the delicious warmth of the water. Leonidas had scented it with some jasmine or lilac oil that worked to relax her even further. That was the man—dragon—he was. Thoughtful. Kind. Hot as hell. Why would she even hesitate to mate with a man like that?
Other than the fact it might kill her.
Strangely, that was the least frightening aspect of the whole thing. She’d already risked her life to break his spell—because it was the right thing to do, and she regretted no part of that. But now he was free… and in theory, he could mate with anyone.
But he was in love with her.
And she loved him. There wasn’t really a question about that, but it was still so fresh and new. Her heart felt like it had been broken open, and now it was raw and vulnerable and in need of protection. She wanted to huddle around it, curl up over it, and keep it from being hurt. Because that’s what love—this kind of love, romantic, sexy love—had always meant to her.
A chance to get hurt.
A chance to lose everything that mattered.
Could she take that chance with him?
Leonidas had left her alone to think it over, and thank magic for that. She literally couldn’t think as clearly when he
was staring into her eyes and touching her. All she wanted was to jump the man’s body and tell him how much he owned her heart—all of which was entirely reasonable and absolutely true, but which made it difficult to rationally sort out whether she was ready to take the leap into mating and making a baby. Any normal couple would have time to figure this stuff out, but with this world-shaking treaty at stake and Leonidas’s time ticking, even without the curse…
She growled her frustration then let out a long, low breath, trying to empty all the turmoil out with it. She lifted herself out of the warm embrace of the bathwater and stood in the tub. Droplets trickled down her body, slow and sensuous, like Leonidas’s fingers would when they made love the next time… which would be when they mated. If she chose the white dress.
The mating gown. That was what Leonidas had called it.
Rosalyn stepped out of the tub and onto the cool stone pavers of the room. The gown was draped over a nearby chair. The nearly transparent silk seemed only half there—more like a nightgown or a revealing evening dress. Her body shivered, and the cold made her nipples hard. She could so easily slide it on, run through the keep to find Leonidas, then leap into his arms and tell him to take her. There would be no turning back, and it would be a hell of a ride, no matter how things turned out. But he was right—she’d lose the coven, Aunt Gwen, the shop, everything. Even a chance at maybe patching things up with her father. It didn’t escape her notice that he had warned them about this dark fae who was after them. Maybe he was finally deciding that he’d made a mistake. Maybe he wanted to know his daughter, the one he’d tossed out on the street when she was only ten years old.
Rosalyn turned away from the gossamer mating gown and eased over to the cream-colored suit hanging off the edge of the four-poster bed. It was just like the one she’d discarded on the floor before getting into the tub, only clean and draped with delicate silk panties and a white satin bra. Her previous underwear had been ripped from her body in some of the most erotic lovemaking she’d ever experienced—something she would also leave behind if she chose to return to the coven and leave Leonidas. She’d never have another lover like him. Even the thought of not being with him for more than the length of a long bath burned a pain deep in her heart. When she pictured him going on with his life, free to seduce some other willing human female—which he would have to do, for the treaty and for himself—that pain welled up to rage. It was like she had her own dragonfire volcano inside. Another woman’s hands on him? Another woman being pleasured by him? There was no amount of spell-working or coven-acceptance that could compensate for the pain of living with that knowledge her entire life.
No. She turned away from the primly-tailored suit—
Her body jerked with surprise. “Holy shit!” she gushed out—Leonidas was standing by the tub, staring at her. “Leonidas! Fuck. Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
She was naked, and his eyes raked over her body, but it was cool… almost cold. What the hell?
“So, you’re the one,” he said, his voice strange. He flicked a glance at the mating gown on the seat.
For some reason, that rubbed her the wrong way. She lifted her chin. “I thought you were giving me a choice.” What the hell was he doing? Pressuring her with this weird, suddenly-creepy vibe?
He smirked. “He would give you the illusion of choice, wouldn’t he?”
What the fuck? “I don’t know what kind of game—” She cut off at the sudden look of concern on his face. He glanced over his shoulder to the door, which was still closed. In fact, she couldn’t remember hearing it open—
He turned back and flicked his fingers at her. She was suddenly dressed, the clothes literally conjuring around her in a tight-fitting black dress. “There,” he said, striding toward her. “Something fit for dying in.”
She stepped back, fear belatedly blaring alarm through her body. “What—” But words failed her as Leonidas’s brilliant blue eyes were replaced by ice-cold, nearly clear ones.
Glamour. Fuck. Her heart seized just as the strange man pretending to be Leonidas grabbed hold of her arm. She tried to jerk away, but his grip was iron-strong, even through the sleeve of her dress. His long black hair was tucked behind… what the hell? Were those ears pointy?
He pulled her close, his cold eyes boring into hers. “Time to go, little witch.”
She scrambled for some magic she could throw at him, but before she could even form half a thought, he turned away from her and dragged her along—only they weren’t going anywhere normal, like out the closed door. The world vanished in a flare of light... and suddenly she was somewhere different.
The man shoved her away.
She recoiled and snuck a look around. This room was more like the bottom of a well, with walls at least a dozen stories tall. They glowed and seemed wet, like ice lit from within, and they were wavy not straight, as if carved from a glacier. There were shadows and crevices that made it hard to actually see what they were—and the whole thing shimmered with magic. The vast room, whatever it was, had only two normal-ish things in it—a giant white bed and big flat silver screen above it.
She dashed a look to the man, eyes wide.
His disgust was obvious. “Don’t get excited, little witch. I won’t be fucking you today.”
A shudder ran through her. “You… you’re that fae, aren’t you?” Fuck. This was Zephan, the guy Leonidas had been trying to hide from by fleeing to the castle.
Zephan snorted. “Not too bright, are you, witch?”
The shudder settled into a cold gush of terror in her stomach. This man—no, dark fae prince—would kill her. She stumbled back and tried to summon a paralysis spell, one of the few her Aunt Gwen had taught her. Rosalyn had barely mumbled the words and shoved a hand toward Zephan before he twitched a single finger. A force that felt like an elephant slamming into her sent her sailing backward. She banged into one of the ice-cold walls and slumped to the floor. Black stars swam in front of her eyes, and dizziness pulsed through her head, nearly sending her tipping over from the barely-upright sitting position she’d fallen into. She blinked hard to clear her vision and tried to brace against the wall, but the magic of it scorched her hand.
She yanked it away and cradled it to her chest.
Zephan was stalking angrily over to her.
Oh, fuck. She tried to conjure a blast of pure magic, somehow summoning it from the depth of her being, and miraculously, a ball of blistering blue energy shot from her palm straight toward him. But Zephan just caught it mid-air, not touching it but somehow commandeering it. He reached her, grabbed her by the front of her slinky black dress, and hauled her off the floor. He held the blue magic above his palm as though he was about to smash it in her face.
“Don’t tempt me, witch!” he breathed in her face. “I’d love to burn you like the last one.”
The last one? What the hell was this crazy, psycho fae talking about? She shook in his hold, eyes glued to the spitting blue magic ball. What could she say to stop this maniac? “You don’t… you don’t need to kill me,” she gasped. “I’m no threat to you. I… I don’t even want to mate with Leonidas.” Which wasn’t true, but holy shit, she’d say whatever she had to. Her jumbled brain knew this had something to do with the treaty. She scrambled to figure that out.
Zephan’s eyes sharpened. “No? Well, I can’t quite take the chance, now can I?” But he flicked away the magic ball and released her.
She leaned back, but there was nowhere to go. Not only did she have no idea where she was, his powers far outstripped anything she could summon.
Zephan glared at her. “It would be so much easier to just kill you.” His nose wrinkled in disgust. “But there seems to be just enough human in you to make that decidedly inconvenient.”
He couldn’t kill her? Somehow that only trickled a little relief through her. But it was enough to bring back her voice. “Why bother taking me, then? Why not just leave us alone?”
He snorted a laugh. “Leave you alone
? You’re the one unraveling all my plans, witch.” Then he narrowed his eyes at her. “I may not be able to kill you, but then again… I might just change my mind about fucking you.”
What? Her heart seized again. He grabbed hold of her and dragged her toward the bed. She struggled against him, trying to wrench free, and failing that, she dropped to the floor so he literally had to drag her kicking and screaming. No way in hell was she going to let that happen without a fight. He snarled at her and released his hold. She thunked hard on the floor and banged her head, but before she could recover, something lifted her into the air. She hung there, five feet off the ground, suspended by magic that left her pawing at the air but getting nowhere. Then suddenly the black dress he had conjured for her disappeared, leaving her naked. Her hair was wild and free, standing straight out from her head, doing nothing to cover her nakedness, so she lamely tried to cover her breasts with her arms. Then that same magical force yanked her hands out, spreading her arms and legs both wide, spread-eagle in the air.
Zephan peered up at her coolly. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can stop me, Rosalyn Thorne.”
Terror shuddered through her. Her teeth chattered with it, so she shut her mouth tight. What could she say anyway that would stop this monster?
Then she moved, only it wasn’t anything she did—she was floating backward in the air, still spread-eagle for this asshole’s lascivious gaze, which was raking over her. He was calmly walking below her, following her as he magically floated her back… toward the bed.
“I will definitely enjoy having you,” Zephan said with a smile so creepy it ran tremors through her again. “Doubly so because it will fuck with Leonidas’s mind to know I’ve been inside you. But make no mistake, Rosalyn the witch… you will enjoy it as well.”
“In your fucking dreams!” The words wrenched out past the shaking and clamped-tight teeth.
