by Leigh, Lora
“Yes?” he answered, that husky growl in his voice far too sexy.
Sitting up as she dragged the sheet around her, she let herself stare at the tattoos along his side and the center of his chest.
Dare ye not awaken the dragon, for he rides hellfires, wields Heaven’s sword, and slay you he shall … The words were in two lines along his right side at his ribs.
The most impressive one, though, was almost a 3-D image. Ghostly scaled dragon’s claws, blood dripping from the sharpened tip, held a beautiful, faceted emerald. Beneath the emerald words were inscribed in the leathery palm below the gem. The Russian script was unfamiliar to her, but it meant something important to him, she thought. The tattoo was right over his heart and beside the emerald … She leaned closer, frowning, paying little attention to the one-sided conversation.
That was a bullet wound, and it wasn’t an old one. That scar was fairly recent.
Her gaze lifted to Ilya’s, meeting it in the realization that he’d been watching her all along.
“I’ll be there momentarily,” Ivan stated to whomever he was talking to.
When he disconnected the call, before she could speak he dragged her to him, his lips landing on hers with a hunger that was more than simple lust.
His fingers tangled in her hair, held her to him, and destroyed her senses once again. She loved his kisses. Loved the male hunger and strength in them, the way he kissed her like she was a woman, not like a doll that might break.
Even when she surprised him and jerked her lips back to nip at his lower lip, there was no anger, nothing that could make her feel shame or cause her to hesitate. No, his eyes narrowed, a grin kicking up at the corner of his lips as he took the challenge.
When his lips returned to hers it was to deliver hard, heated kisses that didn’t give her a chance to catch her balance or find other ways to dare him. The hand in her hair tightened when he pulled back, his features taut with male hunger.
What she did to him tore at his soul. Equal parts lust and pure overriding hunger for just the taste of her filled him. Staring into those dark, slumberous gray eyes, he knew after his Emma Jane no other woman would ever do.
If he didn’t convince her that she loved him or find a way to stay when this was over, it might kill him. No dragon wanted to lose his mate, and Ilya more than any wanted to keep his.
To keep her, he’d have to show her all the ways she could be free with him. That she could burn with him and let a dragon become more than just a bodyguard, far more than just a lover.
“You have to be somewhere,” she gasped as his lips moved to her neck, his teeth raking against the sensitive cord at the side.
“Momentarily,” he growled, his breathing harsh, heavy, even as he tried to control it. “I have other things to do first. As do you. Come, love, ride your dragon.”
Ride her dragon.
Emma Jane lost her breath as he muttered the words against her neck.
Oh yes, she wanted to ride her dragon.
One hand gripped her hip, the other the opposite thigh as he guided her over him.
He didn’t enter her immediately. Instead, he settled her until the slick folds of her pussy cushioned the hot flesh instead.
Emma Jane rocked against the pressure against her clit, her head tipping back, eyes closing at the pleasure surrounding her. A second later a whimpering cry left her lips as Ilya’s lips covered a nipple and sucked it inside the head of his mouth.
What was it about his touch? she thought hazily. Why did she respond to him, want things with him that she would have never wanted with another man?
This hard, tattooed, dangerous dragon. What made her open to him when she’d been able to open to no other?
Her hands clenched his shoulders as his lips drew at first one nipple, then the other. He gave her the sensation she needed, that erotic bite of a pleasure bordering pain. The lash of fire, the scrape of his teeth.
His hands caressed her back, hips, the callused palms moving over the curves of her rear before he gripped them, holding her still, letting her feel the throb of his cock against her clit.
Excitement raced through Emma Jane. Her heart beat almost painfully in her chest and blood thundered through her veins. Each time he touched her he lit a need inside her that she couldn’t deny or turn away from.
And with each touch it only grew stronger. He was filling parts of her that weren’t physical, branding himself on to her soul and ensuring when he was gone he left her forever longing for him.
“Ilya, this is killing me,” she whimpered, her fingers tightening on his shoulders as the suckling pressure on her nipple became hungrier. “It’s so good. And not enough…” His teeth raked her nipple, causing her to jerk at the flash of sharp sensation and the moisture gathering between her pussy and his cock to increase.
Ilya was certain he was going to spill his seed between their bodies. The undulation of her hips, the slick, hot flesh sliding against his dick, her naked body his to stroke, kiss, or mark, however he pleased. She was like no other woman he’d ever known in his life.
How the hell was he going to walk away from her when the time came that she decided his bloodstained past was far too dark for her? She was so deep inside his soul he couldn’t imagine being without her now. This, this moment in time, was life, it was living.
Holding her, feeling her need for him like he’d felt no other woman’s. She warmed the parts of his soul that had never been warmed.
Just holding her, seeing her smile, feeling her kiss, reminded him of dreams he’d never dared allow himself.
“Ilya,” she murmured against his lips when he drew her to him for a kiss. “Please, I need you inside me now.”
She rarely spoke while he was taking her. She still held parts of herself from him. But like sunlight through the clouds, she was slowly emerging, slowly testing her own limits.
“Then take what you need, baby,” he dared her, staring into her drowsy, sensually drugged eyes. “I’m here for your pleasure. Whatever that may be.”
Something bright and wild flared in her gaze, but that shadow of uncertainty still lingered. Still, she lifted herself, one graceful hand moving between their bodies until she gripped his erection and slid the swollen head through the slick folds of her pussy.
He’d have a fucking stroke waiting.
A man could only bear so much pleasure at one time.
The nerve-laden crest pressed against her entrance, felt the head, the snug muscles parting, and never had he had to fight so hard to hold back his release. He could feel the perspiration beginning to film his forehead as sexual heat rushed through him, stoked by her innocence and her sensuality.
The slow degrees that she took him in had him groaning at the pleasure. Tighter than a fist, her inner flesh rippled over his cock, inch by inch as she stared back at him. Rising and lowering herself, she took more and more of him, pleasure and excitement rising in her expression.
Watching her, gauging each response, he caressed her back, her hips, then lower until he could grip the curves of her ass. He didn’t lead her, didn’t change whatever pace she set. He didn’t want to take control of the movements, he wanted to increase her pleasure.
As her fingers dug into his shoulders, he let his fingers delve into the narrow crevice of her rear, stroking, caressing, until he found the sensitive entrance located there. He let his fingers linger over it, stroke it, until he’d managed to draw back the excess moisture spilling from her pussy.
Ilya watched her carefully for any hint of uncertainty or denial, but all he saw was the increased pleasure and need.
His courageous, adventurous Emma Jane. She hadn’t been meant to live without pleasure, without excitement.
As her pace increased and her pussy became slicker, hotter, Ilya drove her higher by giving what many would think forbidden, depraved. With his finger slick with the juices spilling from her pussy, he entered that other, snugger entrance and watched her go wild.
Her orgas
m rushed over her, her movements becoming jerky, her slick heat tightening further and throwing him over that edge he’d sworn he’d resist this time. He spilled inside her, again. Ah God, the pleasure of her, the clenching caress around his dick as he shot his release inside her, destroyed him.
Her fingers flexed against his shoulders, nails digging in, then her lips went to his neck, and Ilya couldn’t throttle the wrenching groan that came from his throat as she marked him. His Emma Jane, sweet, shy, so very hungry for all things sensual, marked her dragon as her own.
* * *
They showered together, and his Emma Jane, he found, could be as playful as a little mink as they washed each other. Her soft laughter during those stolen moments was a memory he tucked close to his heart. Just in case.
When Emma Jane was finally dried and nearly dressed, her mother called. Ilya left her to talk to her mother and made his way from the house to meet Sawyer in the tree line at the back of the house.
The other man was waiting, relaxed and silent as Ilya approached him.
John Sawyer was one of the agency’s best. He’d been a SEAL before bad intel had caused him to lose half his team and left him sour on the command structure. A wound six months before had put him on recovery until only weeks ago. Not that anyone could have guessed he’d been wounded.
He was a stubborn son of a bitch who took zero bullshit and was as quick to kill as he was to breathe if the situation required it. His brown eyes were cold and hard, his expression rarely showing any expression. He wasn’t big on mercy, and trust was low on his list of priorities. But he and Ilya understood each other. One killer to another.
“You were right last night,” Sawyer stated as Ilya stepped to the tree the other man leaned casually against. “Matt Lauren was testing the security.” He looked up and Ilya followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes at the flash of metal he saw hidden close to the trunk.
“What is it?” Ilya asked him.
“I didn’t get too close, didn’t want to let anyone know it was spotted.” His eyes moved around the perimeter, always watching, always aware. “But from what I saw, it’s locked on the security plate at the back door. I’m going to guess it’s analyzing the protocols each time anyone enters or exits, looking for the passcode in. Someone’s gone to a hell of a lot of trouble here, Ilya.”
Ilya moved around the tree, his gaze trained on the camouflaged box.
“Any sign of audio or video?” he asked the agent.
“Not according to my inspection of it. My equipment isn’t detecting anything either. What I did detect though, and that’s in the security system itself, are very brief intervals, some less than a second, hitting the electronics every hour or so, or when the back doors were used.” Sawyer nodded toward the house. “I’d say when her ex-husband entered and set off the security, that bad boy was locked on to the security plate the whole time. Someone’s looking to come in and catch you unaware.”
Good luck there. Ilya wasn’t an easy man to catch unaware.
“I’ll contact the sheriff and arrange a little talk with Matt Lauren,” Ilya decided.
“Good luck there,” Sawyer grunted, drawing Ilya’s gaze back to him. “I called Eric when I found it. Lauren’s parents had him out before daybreak, and he’s no place to be found now.”
He was hiding because he knew Ilya would come after him. Smart man, Ilya thought mockingly. A dead man walking, but he’d be walking a bit longer than he would have been if he hadn’t found a place to hide.
“Want me to find him?” Sawyer asked, no anticipation or judgement either way in his tone.
Sawyer knew Ilya would kill the other man, though, and he was offering to remove the cost of that action from between Ilya and Emma Jane.
“I want you to do exactly what you’re doing.” Ilya shook his head. “You’re my backup while we’re sleeping. This is the wrong time to take the chance that those bastards will return while you’re busy with something else.”
Sawyer nodded slowly before turning back to him. “I want my team,” he stated then. “Max, Elizaveta, Grisha, and Tobias. There’s four of them, two of us, and one little girl caught in the cross fire. Doesn’t give her very good odds if you ask me.”
And he was right. If it was just him and Sawyer when the attack came, then Ilya would look forward to the fight. But he knew fate’s capricious ways and he didn’t want to risk Emma Jane to fate.
“I’ll contact Ivan immediately and have them on a flight within an hour.” It was an action he’d already considered.
“Whoever it is, is patient. That means a hell of a lot of money is backing them,” Sawyer observed. “They don’t want to fuck up again. The fact that they haven’t gone after her since we arrived bothers me, Ilya. That bothers me real bad.”
It bothered him as well, Ilya thought. Complacency wasn’t the problem, and if Emma Jane’s would-be assassins had even checked into who he was, they’d know that. Ilya wasn’t just well trained. He’d been a hardened soldier by twelve and each year of his life had only added to it.
He’d never been a child, never known innocence, so there wasn’t a chance either chimera would affect his protection of Emma Jane. He was a dragon. No, he was the Dragon Heir, whether he had wanted the title or not. Perhaps it was time to wield what little power he had in that circle of cutthroats, thieves, and assassins.
If he was very, very lucky, the ones trying to move against Emma Jane had no idea the death they were facing if so much as a scratch marred her skin in their endeavors.
It would mean calling his grandparents and meeting with them. The last time he’d done that, he’d left with the ink over his heart. God only knew what they’d ink next.
“Get some rest,” he told Sawyer as he turned away. “Your team will be here before dark.”
Sawyer nodded at that and, rather than walking away, pulled a small black digital box from the backpack next to the tree and began fiddling with the controls again. Sawyer’s idea of rest. If the man ever slept, Ilya hadn’t caught him doing it.
Meanwhile, Ilya had calls to make.
It had been two weeks since the first attack, an almost unheard-of amount of time considering the fact that Emma Jane wasn’t hiding and only one man, possibly two, was guarding her.
That told him at the very least, they knew who he was and they knew what awaited them if they killed him. The last man who had tried had died screaming. Ivan had actually been merciful. But Ivan had only been one step ahead of the brother Ilya refused to claim and the grandparents who demanded the blood of the shooter’s family as well.
Try talking a Romanian dragon out the blood he was lusting for? That hadn’t been fun.
They were still upset that Ivan hadn’t saved the shooter for them to kill.
He and Ivan were brothers of a different sort. Their loyalties had been honed in the fires of hell amid the fiery lash of the whip. And in some cases, he thought, reaching up to touch the scars beneath the dragon ink, the knife. Ivan’s father and Ilya’s dam’s brother had especially enjoyed using a whip and a knife.
Little bastard is too fucking pretty. Like a little girl. We’re going to make you look like a boy …
They’d carved the side of his face with such joy that the boy Ilya might have been at one time had been forgotten. And it had been done as the bitch who gave birth to him had looked on with a sneer.
As far back as he could remember, even then, he’d known Lorena Stefanova, the woman who gave birth to him, hated the sight of him. It had been years later that he’d learned the reason why. Learned that the name Dragonovich was one she couldn’t withhold from him and it wasn’t the name of the husband she’d taken in the first months of her pregnancy.
She hated the boy she gave birth to because she couldn’t kill him. To do so would bring a wrath upon her that she’d only barely escaped in the Dragonovich family’s vengeance for the death of Ilya’s father.
The Dragonoviches weren’t powerful in the way of oligarchs. It wasn’t money
or family name that made them powerful, though they had plenty of that. It wasn’t even one of the criminally corrupt names. It damned sure wasn’t an old name that came with prestige or power.
The Dragonovich, son of the Dragon, or the Dragon as the head of the family was called, would always stand as the head of a Romanian clan of cutthroats, thieves, and assassins who due to their strength, vengeance, and loyalty were whispered of in tones of fear and awe.
And Ilya was the Dragon Heir, born to take the title of Dragon from the moment of his father’s death. The Dragon heir, long descended from a clan said to have earned the protection of the great beasts that once ruled the mountains and skies of a little known province in Romania so long ago. It was said that the ink used to mark the Dragon Heirs carried the blood of those last surviving dragons.
He was both cursed and revered in certain circles. Feared and respected. He’d been raised in hell, beaten, scarred, and nearly killed more than once before the Dragonovich clan managed to locate him. By then, he was truly a dragon of war, of stealth and death.
And dragons only mate once, his grandmother had told him years ago. When the dragon heir carried the heart mark and the dragon’s woman carried his ink, then any who thought to harm them would know a vengeance that had only grown over the generations.
His grandfather had placed the mark over his heart because Ilya had told him that he knew Emma Jane was the only woman to have touched his heart, the only woman he’d not just kill for but die to protect.
The old man swore he’d heard the dragon’s song and was given the image of the stone to place in the dragon’s claws.
He’d had no intentions of claiming her. No one should have even learned she existed.
Stepping into the house once again, Ilya stared around the sun-filled, cheerful kitchen.
Emma Jane loved her home, her family. She understood loyalty, and honor. He’d met so few women who did. And he very much feared the reason she was a target was due to the fact that somehow, someway, either his mother’s family or her husband’s had learned that the Dragon heir had taken a mate.
