If.
He would be ethereal again within three rotations of the planet Incendium. It would take him a day to reach the rendezvous.
Bond would treat himself to one last night.
Here.
In Ambrosia.
The Seed.
Percipia smelled it more strongly when they passed through the gates of the palace. Her sisters smelled it then, too, excitement passing through their ranks. They moved more quickly in silent agreement that haste was imperative.
“Whose Carrier is it?” Callida demanded.
“Where is he?” Splendea asked.
Enigma seized Percipia’s hand. “Yours?” she guessed, and Percipia knew that her sister had noticed the signs. “You’re glowing, Percipia.”
“Radiant,” Tempera whispered.
“Afire,” Bellatora agreed.
The scent of the Seed flowed through Percipia, hot and insistent, lighting fires that couldn’t be denied. “Mine,” she agreed in a whisper. She didn’t miss the irony that she’d just said she could do without ever needing to claim the Seed.
“What’s it like?” Peri asked with a hunger of her own.
“Primal. Like I’m finally alive,” Percipia admitted, because it was true. She’d never been so aware of her body, of its response to every little sensation, of the sweet press of the night air and the scent of her sisters’ various perfumes. The scent of the Seed made every detail more pronounced and vivid. The world would have been overwhelming, if the scent hadn’t had a focus. She’d never felt so aroused and so attuned to one man.
A man she had to find immediately.
“Where is he?” Enigma asked.
“In the market,” Percipia said, taking another marvelous breath of the powerful scent. She tingled right to her toes, and a thrum began deep in her belly.
She would seduce him and claim the Seed. She would see this obligation fulfilled, and then she could carry on with her life.
How long could it take?
The two sisters held hands as they hurried toward the market, Percipia setting the course since she smelled the Seed most strongly. Their other sisters followed behind, fascinated and excited, chattering like a flock of birds.
Percipia didn’t spend a lot of time in Incendium city, and when she did leave the palace for the city, she tended to visit libraries and bookstores—and one apothecary shop. She was relieved, in a way, that the shop run by Sansor and his father was already closed. She didn’t want her friend to see her snared in inescapable lust.
It would be bad enough when he saw her pregnant with another man’s child, but Percipia didn’t want to think about that. Sansor was logical and loyal to his kind, as well. He would understand.
It would be simpler to finally have this done. The scent of the Seed came only once into every dragon shifter’s life. Percipia would be glad to have it behind her.
The road sloped down toward the river, the air becoming more humid and the scent of the marketplace becoming stronger. The sound of dance music also became louder and Percipia’s heart skipped in anticipation. The market, with its dance halls and clubs, its bars and seedy corners, its sirens and opportunists, was all new to her. It was Enigma who steered their course away from the most disreputable alleys and streets, Enigma who smiled when Percipia stopped outside a dance club.
“Ambrosia,” Enigma said with approval. “What a good place to meet a Carrier of the Seed.”
“Why?” Callida asked.
“Because it’s new. It has an upscale clientele. I like this one a lot,” Enigma said.
“How often have you come here?” Callida asked with suspicion, but Enigma ignored her.
Enigma was studying Percipia, who had stopped to stare. And breathe. The Seed filled her senses, flooding her with a desire that obliterated so many other thoughts and sensations. The sharp focus was a bit frightening due to its intensity. A part of her—her true nature—hoped she didn’t do anything stupid under the Seed’s influence.
“Don’t you think you can find him inside?” Enigma asked.
“I already have,” Percipia whispered and indicated the Carrier with a slight nod.
He stood just inside the door, looking into the club. He was tall, just a little taller than she was, and trim, but she could see the strength in his broad shoulders and chest. He had dark hair, a little long, and wore the kind of generic dark uniform favored by crews on starships and freighters.
Just arrived, maybe. That would explain why she hadn’t sensed him before.
He was watching the dancers inside with an avidity that made her think he hadn’t been at port for a long time. She saw his fist clench, and knew he fought some inner battle.
“I don’t know what to do,” Percipia whispered, feeling the lack of her experience in amorous matters. She wasn’t a virgin, but she might as well have been, given how little she’d been interested in such supposed pleasures. Her experiences with intimacy had been awkward and ultimately embarrassing, which had been more than enough to send her back to her books. She certainly had never approached, much less seduced, a stranger.
“He will,” Enigma replied with confidence.
“Now,” Splendea whispered and the sisters surged forward, surrounding Percipia and sweeping her toward the Carrier.
Did he smell it, too? He turned to study Enigma, who reached him first, and Percipia knew that her sister was giving her time to accustom herself to the power of the Seed—and accept what she needed to do. The scent of it burned in her nostrils, blazing a path of fire all the way to her lungs, making her skin tingle and her nipples tighten. She was infused with need, as well as that delicious sense of being alive. She wanted him so badly that her knees shook and she stared at him, memorizing his features, suspecting that she’d never see him again after their mating. He’d be off to another star. Maybe she wouldn’t even know his name.
It didn’t matter. He was handsome. Their child would be beautiful.
The Seed was right.
The Carrier was magnificent, a more attractive specimen than she could have hoped. His nose was straight and his jaw was square. His lips were firm and there was a decisiveness about their line. His eyes, though, were a clear green, filled with humor and intelligence. He surveyed Enigma, then smiled, just a little.
Enigma said something to him. Percipia didn’t much care what it was. She tried to steady herself, knowing she had to claim the Seed before he left port.
She felt Bellatora’s hand on her back, steadying her.
Maybe the scent of the Seed would influence the Carrier, too. If he met her halfway, it would be so much simpler.
When the Carrier’s gaze lifted to hers, Percipia felt a jolt right to her marrow. His gaze brightened and Bellatora gave her a little push. “It’s your responsibility,” she whispered.
“He might be your HeartKeeper,” Peri added softly, and Percipia had no intention of arguing with her about the folly of romantic notions.
She would have this man, tonight. She would savor him and claim the Seed. The scent of the Seed filled her with confidence, making success seem inevitable.
Admiration filled his gaze and Percipia felt beautiful, powerful, seductive. The Seed wasn’t sorcery—she guessed that it influenced receptors and heightened awareness, stimulating hormone production and otherwise ensuring that both her body and the Carrier’s body were on its side.
There was an inevitability about it all that she found reassuring.
He was her Carrier, and she would have his Seed.
The people in the club were attractive, but nothing compared to the group of women who arrived together shortly after Bond stepped inside. They were so beautiful that Bond stared, unable to hide his appreciation. He wasn’t the only one. In fact, he heard a little whisper make its way around the club, though he couldn’t discern the words. He assumed they’d been recognized.
And who would forget such beauties? One of them alone would be remarkable. The eight of them together stole his breat
h away. How was it possible that mortals could be so very attractive?
That their beauty was so temporary seemed almost unfair. But maybe that was why they made the most of it. They would age and weaken all too soon.
The two dark-haired ones whispered to each other as he watched. The one he thought was prettier smiled, but it was the other who stepped boldly toward him. He sensed that they knew each other well, and that the one who approached him was their leader.
She paused before him, her eyes shining, and took a deep breath, running her fingertip across his chest. “You smell delicious,” she said, her voice low and her tone flirtatious. Awareness danced in her dark eyes and her red gown showed her curves to particular advantage. She didn’t just know her charms: she used them. Expertly.
They were sirens. Bond understood immediately. Probably notorious and expensive sirens, well known in Incendium city and a source of fascination to the locals. That explained the whisper.
It might also explain her decision to speak to him, a man who was obviously not a native of Incendium.
If they were sirens, then this was their procuress. She wasn’t visibly older than the others, but she was more decisive. She’d taken the lead. The others awaited her decision. He was intrigued by her air of entitlement—never mind that she was dressed in acres of shimmering red silk. Her breasts and thighs were covered, not displayed, which was an intriguing choice for a lady of the night. Most of the sirens in Incendium marketed their charms more blatantly.
Maybe that was her unique twist. It was an effective one. Bond glanced at the other dark-haired woman, the one he found more attractive. Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze, her dark lashes sweeping over her cheeks in a move he found delightfully modest—and intriguing in a siren. How could she so effectively act as an innocent, given her trade? Had he ever been with an innocent or a virgin? Bond thought not. Even if her shyness was a guise, he was intrigued. She was dressed differently from the others, as well, wearing what might have been a crew uniform. The black tunic, tights and boots were similar to his own, but the length of shimmering blue silk wrapped around her shoulders and head like a hood drew attention to her eyes. They were the same bright hue of blue, their lashes long and dark and thick, and her gaze was fixed upon him.
What was their price? Bond guessed that he would know soon enough.
The necklace at the throat of the one before him was gold, not some paltry imitation, which indicated that business was brisk. He also guessed that she was accustomed to getting what she wanted.
If she wanted him to want one of her sirens, she was in luck.
He did.
“And you look beautiful,” Bond replied with his best smile.
She inclined her head at his compliment, a regal gesture that reminded Bond of something, or someone. He frowned but couldn’t place it.
“More beautiful than my sisters?” she asked, gesturing to the women who accompanied her.
Sisters? That was some kind of family business. There were eight of them altogether. Except for the one he’d already admired, they were dressed as richly as their leader, with variations in taste, all with long hair than hung in loose waves past the hips. Each one was a beauty in her own way, though their coloring varied more than Bond would have expected from siblings. Three had dark hair, two were blond and three had red hair, of hues from copper to auburn. He was inclined to doubt her assertion, but then he noticed that they were all roughly the same height, and slender with enticing curves. Around the eyes, he could see the similarity between them, and in the way they moved.
With sinuous grace.
That detail might have provoked his memory, too, but the one with blue eyes stepped closer. She stopped just in front of him even as his breath caught.
“You do smell delicious,” she murmured, her eyes shining with an anticipation that echoed his own. Her voice was lower than that of the first one, and Bond liked how throaty it was. Her coloring was striking combination, given her dark lashes, blue eyes and fair skin. He was reminded of an old fairy tale he had heard once, about a snow princess.
Something about an apple.
He was forgetting details, which was probably a sign that his time in mortal flesh was coming to an end. Maybe it meant the warning was true. The realization sent panic through Bond, and fed his urgency to feel pleasure one last time.
This one wasn’t as bold as her sister, but she appeared to be more aroused. She licked her lips and caught her breath, those flushed cheeks and her quick glances at him feeding his own awareness of her. The combination of obvious desire and a kind of innocence caught Bond’s attention and held fast. Didn’t she know how alluring she was? Or was it a deliberate ploy? He was startled by how badly he wanted to know.
How much he needed to know.
He looked into her heart and saw only the clarity of a good soul.
Then he was shaken by how much the effort cost him. His days were coming to an end and his powers were fading. He had to remember that.
She placed her hand upon his chest, her fingers trembling slightly at her own audacity. It seemed to Bond that her touch lit a spark within him. It drew him back to the moment. Her proximity stole his breath away and the glimpse of her vulnerability made him lift his hand to capture hers. Her hand was delicate, her fingers long, the weight of her hand in his just perfect. He felt both protective of her and possessive, and they’d only just met.
It was a potent spell these sirens cast.
Bond couldn’t have stepped away from her to save his life. He looked down into her eyes, snared. They were hundreds of shades of blue, from silver to indigo, as mesmerizing as a star-filled sky or an ocean of unfathomed depths.
“Maybe I could just have a little taste,” she whispered, the tip of her tongue trailing across her lower lip.
He couldn’t think of one reason to argue with her.
She was almost the same height as him, so when she leaned closer, her lips were very close to his own. Her breasts pressed with his chest, so sweet and full that his body tightened with need. Her gaze roved over his features, as if she could read his every thought. Bond could only perceive her desire but he guessed that she had assessed, itemized, and catalogued his.
It was her business after all.
She caught her breath, her lashes fluttering, the glimpse of uncertainty—whether genuine or feigned—heating Bond’s blood. She awakened something primal within him, something he didn’t even know existed in his heart, a need to possess and claim and defend, even with his own life.
He definitely wanted to experience all she had to share.
Then she looked at his mouth, her dark lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes from his view. He could practically feel her glance, as keenly as a touch. His lips burned with impatience to taste her. She licked her own lips, ever so slowly, fanning the flames of his desire. It was the same combination of virgin and seductress, although he couldn’t imagine how she blushed so delicately on purpose. He watched her ease ever closer, his anticipation almost painful, his fist clenched at his side, and it seemed she took a thousand years to eliminate the small space between their mouths.
When she finally touched her lips to his, Bond felt a jolt to his toes.
And heat unfurled behind it, flooding his body with an inferno that wouldn’t easily be quenched. He sensed then that this mating would be the culmination of his amorous experience, that it would be the greatest union—and the one he was most likely to recall.
It might warm his existence for all time.
Her kiss was just a brush of her lips. Not much more than a breath. He felt the tip of her tongue, just barely. A tease and a temptation. The silk brushed his hand; her fingertips slid over his jaw; her breath fanned his lips. Bond closed his eyes, savoring the most arousing kiss he’d ever experienced.
If one of the shortest ones.
He needed more. This couldn’t be his last taste of pleasure.
“Come dance with me,” she whispered, her voice
husky. She touched her lips to his once more, but this time she lingered, her breath mingling with his own, her tongue darting between his lips. His resistance, such as it was, crumbled and weakened, then disappeared completely. He felt her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers in his hair, and closed his eyes in pleasure once again. He was still holding one of her hands and his other slipped around her waist, pulling her against him.
“Just one dance,” she urged, then slanted her mouth across his to kiss him fully, slowly. It wasn’t a forceful kiss but an invitation.
A promise.
When she lifted her lips from his, Bond was smitten. He opened his eyes to find her smiling at him. Her eyes had darkened with desire, a sight that made him hard and hungry.
“Just one dance?” she murmured, thinking he wasn’t convinced.
Bond smiled and took her hand from the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to her palm as he held her gaze. They could have been the only two in the world, this beauty with her dazzling eyes and him.
“Only a dance?” he asked, and was rewarded with the flash of her smile.
“To start.”
“To start,” he agreed, anticipation making his blood hum and her light laugh making him feel like a conquering champion. No one else in the club had captured such a prize and he felt the envy of the observing clientele. He and his siren were surrounded by the other sisters as they moved toward the dance floor. He had the curious sense that they didn’t mean to let him escape, but that was madness. They couldn’t have any shortage of clients. They worked together, that was all, and he wondered idly who would win the favors of the next sister this night.
Then his siren spun in front of him and he didn’t care about anything but her. She laughed and beckoned to him. The first sister waved and the music changed, becoming a pulsing beat that perfectly resonated with the pounding of Bond’s heart.
His temptress pivoted in front of him, her eyes dancing with fire, and Bond wanted her as he had never wanted a woman before. She danced with abandon, but turned to watch him, teasing him with her smile and the swing of her hips. It was impossible for him to leave now, impossible to deny this invitation.
Wyvern’s Angel: The Dragons of Incendium #9 Page 3
