by Joyce, T. S.
“Amir, you know my answer already,” the man said, his voice pitched low and gravelly. “Marcus has urged a war for more than a century now, and we’ve always been able to avoid it. We’ll do it again.”
A Nordic-looking man slammed his open palm onto the table then gestured to her. “But if what the seer says is true, we’ll all burn in our beds if we don’t defend ourselves.”
“Even so,” the leader said in a more patient voice. “Even if she says the truth, we can’t risk our entire species by engaging with him. If the Blackwings get their war, half of the world could burn, and we would annihilate each other. There would be nothing left to protect, and our way of life would be through. We would be nothing but ash and dust. We move our females and offspring into hiding and try to negotiate.”
“You can’t put off the war forever,” the Nordic man said, his voice shaking in anger.
“If any of us want to live, I have to.”
Seven men filed out of the room, murmuring their discontent, while the dark-haired man in the middle stood still with his back to her. Muttering a curse, he sagged against his locked arms on the table and shook his head.
She loved him. She didn’t want him to hurt like this. She needed to touch him and reassure him everything would work out, just as it had for centuries. She stood and padded toward him, then reached her pale hand out to touch his shoulder. “My love?”
Clara gasped and sat up, then hunched into herself and grabbed her head to keep it from exploding. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, and she gripped her hair in desperation to find relief. Slamming her face into the pillow, she bit the material and screamed into it, her hoarse voice agonized and muffled.
As the stabbing sensation eased from her head and she could see and think clearly again, she sat up and drew her knees up to her chest like a shield to protect her from the awful feeling that had come from that dream.
She hadn’t been worried about the war, or the Blackwings, though the name alone had brought on chills. The only feeling that remained was a stark and empty yearning. She missed the man she’d almost touched so deeply her heart felt as if it was being ripped from her chest. She adored and pined for the man in her dreams, and she knew now she was losing her mind.
This was the first dream that had ever made sense, and that was exactly how Grandma’s madness had begun.
Chapter Six
Clara couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she made her way down the hallway in search of the kitchen. Without the smell of bacon as her beacon, she would’ve got lost six turns ago. She clutched the crumpled contract even harder as she turned the corner and saw Damon standing over a stove and cooking scrambled eggs.
“Good morning,” he said in a dead tone without turning around.
“I’ve decided I’ll have your baby.”
Damon spun around, his eyes wide and shocked. “Excuse me?”
“My answer is yes, but I have negotiations to your contract.”
He stood there frozen, egg-covered spatula in hand and his mouth hanging open. He was wearing only a pair of thin, baby blue pajama pants and no shirt. Clara pursed her lips, determined to hold his gaze, but holy shit, her eyes had a mind of their own, and now she was ogling his sculpted torso. Wide, cut shoulders and a straight, deep indentation between his pecs, drawn up nipples and eight perfect abs, flexing with every breath. And oh, the shadows adorned his torso well. He even had those defined muscles over his hips that she found so bitable. But the skin over his muscular physique wasn’t smooth as she’d imagined it to be. Instead, it was rough and uneven and darker on some parts than others. Scars, or perhaps old burns? Shit, stop staring.
A pungent scent hit her nostrils. “Your eggs are burning.”
“What?”
“Your eggs.”
“Shit!” Damon spun and yanked the pan off the overkill eight-burner stove. It was deeply satisfying to hear the man curse like a commoner.
With a dragon growl that rattled the room, he gritted his teeth until a muscle in his chiseled jaw bulged. He glared at the ruined food. “Everything else is ready, but you’ll have to wait on the eggs,” he muttered as he pulled a carton out of the fridge.
Clara looked around at the plates overflowing with pancakes, waffles, French toast, bacon, sausage, biscuits, and cinnamon rolls. “I think we will be okay without the eggs.”
“I eat a lot,” he said low, eyes narrowed on hers. “I’m going to go put on a shirt.”
Right. She was staring again. “No, don’t! I mean,” Clara said, lowering her voice to a non-lunatic volume. “I like the way you look like this, all disheveled and natural. It makes you less intimidating.”
He sighed out a troubled sound and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying I agree to this, but tell me your negotiations while I make you a plate. I’m curious.”
“Okay,” she drawled out, taking a seat on one of the wooden stools under the kitchen island. The room matched the hallway. White, sterile cabinets to match white marble countertops. It made her want to pull a hoodie on. “First off, I should tell you why I’m agreeing to this so you understand where I’m coming from. I’m not in this for the money, and I don’t need you to take care of me like that. I mean, a little support wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t need you providing for me. I can take care of myself and…our…baby.”
Damon looked troubled as he loaded pancakes onto her plate, but nodded. “Go on.”
“I liked the way you were with Rowan last night, and it’s nice to imagine you caring for our… God, this is weird. It’s weird talking about this, right?” Clara shook her head. “Moving on. I’ve wanted a baby for a long time. And I don’t know how much of a background check you did on me, but I had a crew once. I had two males under me, and I loved them.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. They were my best friends. We did everything together, and we were deliriously happy.” She licked her lips and swallowed hard at the memory of the day her dreams had been crushed.
“Don’t say anymore,” Damon said suddenly, and when she looked up, she could’ve sworn there was fear in his dark eyes. “I don’t want to hear the rest. I already know. I read it.”
Hurt, jagged and red, washed through her. Steeling herself, she whispered, “Fine. I wanted a baby, and they wanted to help me raise one, so we tried.”
“With both?”
Clara nodded. “It wasn’t gross or strange to us, but before it happened…well… you read the rest.”
Damon looked sick as he slid her plate toward her. He turned his back on her and began cracking eggs into a bowl. “Continue.”
“I was empty after— Fuck.” Clara scraped her teeth against her lip in an effort to keep her emotions in check and said, “Anyway, I went to the doctors and did everything like I was supposed to until I ran out of money.” Tears blurred her vision at how big a failure she’d been. “One baby took, but it didn’t keep,” she whispered. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
Damon’s shoulders were rigid as he worked stiffly over the stove, and he banged the pan onto the back burner so hard, the sound made her jump. He hooked his hands on his hips and stared out the window, his back a stony silhouette in the early morning light. Without a word, he turned and strode around the island, his eyes blazing in the instant before he crushed her to his chest. Shocked, she froze as his skin burned against hers. And when her surprise wore off, she slowly lifted her hands and hugged him, running her palms over his uneven skin.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry that happened. Sorry you lost…” He huffed an exhalation and gripped the back of her wild hair, burying his face against her neck. “Fuck, you smell good. Soap and fruit and mint.”
“I brushed my teeth,” she muttered like a sexpot. Real smooth.
He rattled a satisfied-sounding rumble as he sidled closer between her legs until he pressed against her sex. Clara cursed how thick the denim material of her jeans were. “
Negotiation number one,” she whispered, running her fingernails up and down his back. “No more doctors. And no ovulation tests or worrying obsessively over whether it will happen for us.”
“What do you mean, no doctors?”
“Your contract says you want to get me pregnant with doctors, but I don’t want this to be scientific. I tried that, and it was a cold and lonely experience. I want to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Damon was still breathing against her skin, and now he plucked at her neck gently with his lips. Her sex throbbed once, the little beggar.
“You want me to breed you the old-fashioned way then?”
“Negotiation number two, stop using the words breed or breeder. It’s sex, and we’re friends with benefits who share a common goal of making a baby. Together.”
“Sex,” he murmured in an odd, animalistic voice she didn’t recognize.
Oh, he smelled good, too. Soap and man and syrup with a hint of smoke. How was his skin so hot? Focus.
“Th-three. I want to co-parent. I know male dragons usually raise the kids, but I want in on this, too. I want the whole experience. I don’t just want to be pregnant, Damon. I want to be a mother. If we’re successful, I’ll move to Saratoga, and we’ll do this thing together.”
“What else?” Damon asked, grazing his teeth against her neck.
She couldn’t think with his teeth on her like this. Bitey dragon was going to make her come without even touching inside her panties.
“Four,” she said, forcing herself to lean back. Clara cupped his cheeks and brought his fevered gaze to hers. “You can’t be disappointed in me if it doesn’t happen, and you can’t be disappointed if the baby turns out to be a grizzly like me.”
Damon’s gaze was lightening by the second to that silver that churned like storm clouds. He looked down at her lips and blinked slowly. “Anything else?”
“I’m not signing this contract. We’re ripping it up and doing this as friends, not business partners. You don’t owe me some cushy comfortable life after all is said and done. I wouldn’t feel right taking your money past what you want to help out with the baby. Deal?”
Damon dragged his attention back to her eyes and angled his head thoughtfully. “No contract?”
Clara grabbed a knife from the crystal butter dish and cut a slit across her palm, then turned his hand over and did the same to his. While hers dripped red and filled the air with the scent of iron, Damon’s cut healed instantly, only offering a small line of blood no bigger than a papercut.
His voice was hollow when he murmured, “I don’t bleed much.”
Offering her hand for a shake, she said, “No matter. It’s enough. Shake to seal the deal.”
He pressed his palm against hers and that same shocking pain she’d felt last night when she’d touched him for the first time zinged up her nerve endings.
“Ouch,” she yelped, yanking her hand back. She looked at the stinging cut and gasped as it glowed orange from the inside and healed instantly. Her bear shifter healing was fast, but not that efficient. “What the hell?” she asked on a shocked breath.
Damon frowned at her hand as he rubbed his own. He said something so softly, even with her impeccable hearing, she almost missed it. She could’ve sworn it sounded like, “Dangerous Clara.”
With a sharp inhalation of breath, he drew her knuckles to his lips and let his mouth linger against her skin. “I accept your negotiations. We can start trying whenever you like.”
“Hmm,” she hummed as she leaned forward and kissed his throat. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but I might be able to pencil you in now.”
“Now?” he asked as he angled his head back and gave her more access to nibble at his neck. His shoulders shook curiously, as if she’d given him chills.
“Unless you want to enjoy your pancakes first.”
Damon dropped his chin to his chest and smiled at the plates of food, and for a moment, she thought he was going to choose breakfast over her. But then he turned just enough that his lips pressed onto hers. His mouth moved against hers easily, like water. She tasted sweet syrup as he pushed his tongue gently past the parted seam of her lips.
A soft moan escaped as she wrapped her arms around his neck and melted against him. Gently, he pulled her to the edge of her stool and harder against his long erection. Holy moly, she was being kissed! This wasn’t the passionless pecks from her crew or the empty goodnight kisses she’d had when she’d tried her hand at dating. This was passion and fire burning her up from the middle outward. This was limbs going numb and hearts pounding against each other. This was falling for a man with a touch. Her stomach dipped like she was on a rollercoaster, and she opened her eyes in a rush just to make sure they weren’t floating.
Damon eased back and pressed his forehead against hers. His breath shook, and he closed his eyes, hiding the brilliant color from her.
“No, no, Mr. Dragon,” she whispered, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
Damon’s nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell with his quick, panting breath. “It’s been a while.”
“Since what?”
She thought he would say since he’d had sex with a woman, but he shocked her into stillness when he said, “It’s been a while since I let anyone in.”
Clara’s lip trembled, so she bit hard to steady it. “I won’t hurt you.” And for some reason she couldn’t fathom, that was the easiest oath she’d ever made. Damon was fierce and strong. Deadly. But as he lifted those uncertain silver eyes to hers, the ones with the long pupil that contracted as he focused on her face, it was clear that Damon guarded his heart as the dragons of legend had guarded castles and helpless maidens.
She wanted in. Wanted to be close to him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. It felt significant and necessary. Whoever she’d been yesterday didn’t matter anymore, because when she was around Damon, she felt bigger. She felt important again after losing her self-worth somewhere along the way. Without words, just by looking at her with that vulnerability churning in his mercury-colored eyes, he was offering her a little sliver of his cold heart that he’d warmed just for her. And that ounce of trust he was offering bound her to him. The threads of her soul reached out, desperate to embrace his as he leaned forward again and sipped her lips. The urgency had dimmed from his kiss and been replaced with a timid, silent question. Am I worthy?
Her heart was swelling, filling her chest cavity until it was hard to breathe. She ran her fingertips gently through his hair as she angled her head and parted her lips for him. Damon brushed his tongue against hers, and she released a long, shaky sigh, expelling her nervousness completely. She trusted him. It made no sense that she trusted a man like Damon so quickly, but for unexplainable reasons, and more to do with instinct, she did. He was good—not the monster she’d thought. The cold mask he wore was a façade to protect himself from letting people in, but it slipped away around her.
Damon leaned forward and hooked his arm under the backs of her knees, then picked her up. He carried her as a groom carried a bride over the threshold. His gait was easy and unhurried, and he rested his cheek against her hairline as he took her out of the kitchen and down a hallway lit only by an occasional chandelier. There were no windows to allow in natural sunlight, and the farther he walked, the darker and colder it became.
He hadn’t shaved this morning, and the short scruff on his jaw scratched against her forehead as he took a right down another hallway, this one even darker than the last. Here the walls were illuminated by old-fashioned candle lanterns that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck with familiarity.
“Are you taking me to your lair?” she asked quietly, as if the volume of her voice would ruin the magic of this moment.
“I am, fair maiden. Do you oppose?”
She smiled at his formal words with their edge of teasing. Perhaps others didn’t understand Damon’s subtle humor, but she did. She smiled up at him and shook her head. “N
ae, savage dragon. Take me to your lair with haste, for I oppose you not.”
The glow of the candle lanterns threw shadows across his face, making his eyes look stark in contrast. She should be scared with him looking so fierce and otherworldly, but all she could think right now was how strikingly handsome he was.
She brushed her fingertip across his cheek, just under the blazing color. His long pupils contracted and dilated between lanterns, and she smiled proudly at him. “My dragon,” she murmured.
“Not even bedded yet and already possessive.” His lips lifted at the corners and gave her a brief view of those dimples she was beginning to breathe for.
Damon angled his body and pushed against a towering, ancient wooden door. Inside, he set her on her feet and eased back by inches, inhuman eyes intent on her.
It was dark in here, and she had to wait for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she was stunned. She stepped forward into the cavernous room. It was enormous and carved into the cliff. Behind a huge bed was nothing but a dark, dripping, jagged rock face. Two sides of the room seemed to be made of black-out panels that had been lowered to block out the sunlight. He didn’t move to open them though, and it struck her that he cared what she thought of his lair the way it was. Cold with a constant drip drip sound coming from the far wall. For how big the room was, there was very little furniture, and the floor under her bare feet was made of cobblestone.
