Hot breaths, soft sighs, heavy moans all mingling together. He filled me so perfectly. I clamped my muscles tight, not wanting to let him go.
I let myself feel everything. Just this once, I wanted it all. I let him push our passion to the cliff, let my body synchronize to his in perfect harmony. Just this once, I let more than my body fall over the edge.
With him.
He swallowed my scream, then licked his tongue over mine. My inner muscles clamped hard around him. He stilled, his hands having slipped to the bottom of my thighs, squeezing my flesh as a violent shiver trembled through him.
He lowered his wings, flush to his back. Our breathing slowed. But still, he held me there, pinned beneath him, his chest to mine, bodies aligned. Forehead to forehead, we panted and said nothing. The firelight was behind him, his face in shadow. I had no idea what he was thinking. His expression grave, so serious, so intense. He wanted to tell me something. He even parted his lips to speak, but didn’t.
“Lorian?”
He bent and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth as if to burn some thought into me with touch. The desperate emotion rippled between us. Not breaking the kiss, he lifted and lowered me under the covers. Tucking his wings in tight, he lay on his side and pulled my back to his front, fitting me safely in the curve of his body. Wordless, we softened into each other’s arms and fell asleep.
* * * *
I awoke to the sensation of gentle fingers trailing up and down my arm that lay outside the downy coverlet. The fire had burned down to embers, emanating a faint glow in the darkened room. Snuggled into the crook of Lorian’s body, I couldn’t remember a time when I had felt so warm and so good.
I didn’t want to break the moment, but he knew I was awake. He propped up on one elbow, head in hand, looking down at me.
“What time is it?”
He brushed my wild, bed-head hair over my pale shoulder. It had fallen from its clasp long ago.
“Early.”
I nodded, closing my eyes and burrowing into the pillow, enjoying his attentions. I wondered where the bitchy Sorcha from last night had gone, but decided to relish being petted by a beautiful, Morgon man for now.
“You hungry?”
I shrugged. “A little.”
“I’ll bring you something.”
He started to get up. “No,” I grabbed his arm. “Stay.” I cleared my throat, my voice scratchy. “Please.”
I didn’t have to look back to know he smiled. He fitted himself behind me again and continued his lazy caresses over my skin. We lay in silence for a few minutes. I noticed a thin, silvery scar running along his inner forearm. I held his wrist and ran a finger along the line. It was smaller, but similar to the others marking his body. “You’ve got quite a few scars for a businessman who builds and manages nightclubs.”
“They’re from my past.”
“As you said before.” I raised an eyebrow at him over my shoulder. I wouldn’t ask again, but he knew I wanted to know. When he finally spoke, I realized by the tone in his voice he was sharing something personal.
“When I was younger, in my late teens, I was, shall we say…difficult.”
“No way.”
He pinched my arm. I giggled.
“I always seemed to be getting into trouble, then I joined the Morgon Guard.”
“The Morgon Guard? What’s that, some kind of military thing?”
He chuckled low. “Not exactly. The Guard instills justice among Morgonkind.”
“Like the police.”
“Sort of, though Morgon standards of justice can be harsher than humans. The Guard doesn’t necessarily wait for a trial. They have the right to enforce the law at will.”
I gulped. He continued. “The Morgon Guard also serves as the professional fighting force for the Obsidian Games.”
“Okay. Now, what are the Obsidian Games?”
“Do you know where Mount Obsidian is outside Drakos?”
“Of course. I’ve never been, but I understand it’s the mountain dragons once lived in thousands of years ago.”
“Yes. It’s where some dragons lived. Actually, it’s where Larkos Nightwing set up his kingdom when he defeated his father. One of his descendants—”
“Which would be one of your ancestors.”
“Yes. One of my ancestors founded the Obsidian Games, a sort of rite of passage for all Morgon men.”
“And what do you do at these Games?”
“Fight.”
I twisted to lay on my back so I could look up at him. “So that’s where the scars come from? And the tattoo on the back of your neck—MG?”
He nodded. I was alarmed how relieved I was the initials weren’t those of a former lover. Before I could consider what this revelation meant, Lorian continued. “Every year, the Games are held at the center of Mount Obsidian. A sort of stadium was constructed there.”
“This must be a big, freaking mountain.”
“Huge. There are hundreds of miles of tunnels running all through and under Mount Obsidian. A person could get lost and never find their way out if they didn’t know them.” His hand started trailing back up my arm and across my collar bone.
“So tell me about the Morgon Guard.”
“They’re an elite fighting force who champion the Games every year. Contenders from different clans fight members of the Guard to win their honor.”
“Win their honor? How?”
“By defeating a champion, which rarely happens, or by refusing to submit until the champion decides to release him. When a champion releases the contender from the battle, we call this ‘crossover,’ which means he’s crossed over from boy to man.”
“But aren’t they all kids, like teenagers?”
“No. They’re not allowed to enter the games until they’re twenty, which is the age of maturation for a Morgon. His wings and body are at full strength at this age and can compete, or try to compete, against a champion.”
“What happens if one of them dies or something?”
“That happens, from time to time. But mostly, they’ll simply break a bone, a wing, or lose a limb.” His foot brushed over mine under the covers, an innocent caress that was strangely intimate.
“But, Lorian, that’s…barbaric.”
“Yes.” He grinned, the fiend. “Which was the appeal for me. My dragon is always on the surface, Sorcha. That’s something I want you to know about me. Most Morgon men are able to keep their dragon at bay, caged in some inner cave, leashing the animal within. Not me. Mine is always with me, looking out through my own eyes.” At the moment, his eyes shimmered with a predatory wildness, proving his words true. He lowered the covers, continuing his slow exploration of my skin, caressing along my torso and between my breasts.
I tried to stay focused. “Were you ever beaten in battle?”
“No.”
“Did you ever break a bone?”
“Yes. Many.”
“Did you ever kill anyone?”
“Yes.” No apology, but a tinge of remorse hung in his voice.
“Why did you stop fighting?”
“Lucius.” He paused, one hand splayed across my ribcage, fingertips grazing the underside of my breast. “He came to me after a hard battle. I’d broken several ribs and an arm.”
I swallowed hard, imagining him battered and bruised. Panic fluttered inside at the thought of him in pain.
“He reminded me about a promise we’d given our mother before she died.”
“Which was?”
He slid his hand down my ribcage, wrapping my waist, his thumb resting on my pelvic bone. “Did you know my mother and Pritchard Cade were in love once?”
Surprisingly, I liked the proprietary hold he had on me. “What? Jessen’s father?”
“The one and only.”
“Wait a minute. That son of a bitch loved something other than himself and his fortune?”
Lorian cracked a smile. “Apparently so. I don’t know the details and don’t want to know them,
but he asked her to marry him. She was already engaged to my father, though they’d never met. Her parents believed in the old ways, family alliances through marriage.”
“So she chose to obey her parents and not her heart.”
“Yes.” A bitter admission. His eyes found mine. “Understand that she did fall in love with my father later, but she never accepted the soulfire bond from him.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“You know about soulfire, of course.” I nodded. His hand started moving again, caressing across my torso to the other side. The sensation of his fingers gently sliding over my skin made my chest rise and fell more quickly. His voice dipped several octaves lower when he spoke again. “Soulfire bonds a Morgon to his mate so closely that one can’t physically live without the other. When one of them dies, the other does, too. It’s a bond that binds the heart, soul, and body together as if they were truly one being.”
My mouth had gone desert-dry. “That’s why your father is still alive. I never realized.”
“Most humans don’t understand, but Morgons know. My father spent a long time in mourning because he grieved for the woman he loved and lost, but also because the Morgon world knew she’d never accepted him on that level. He was ashamed.”
“And so Pritchard Cade ended up trying to force Jessen into a marriage the same way he lost his own love. What a hypocrite.” Jessen’s father had arranged for her to marry a business colleague’s son, the stuck-up, possessive jerk, Aron Grayson. Until Jessen made it adamantly clear she didn’t plan on being her father’s puppet to expand the almighty Cade empire. And Lucius literally burned the truth into Grayson that Jessen was his mate, and he better back the fuck off.
“Not really. Cade was bitter, never having the love he’d wanted. He saw marriage as a tool after he lost her.”
Marriage as a tool, a means to an end. Many still viewed it that way. Even Lorian’s mother obeyed her parents’ will, accepting an arranged marriage to a stranger over her true love. I’d never entertained thoughts of marriage, always seeing men as a means to the only end I wanted from them. And now Lorian. I brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from his eyes, which only slipped back into place, as defiant as the man. A mischievous smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, and I wondered how his mother had managed him as a boy. Probably not very well. But I bet she loved him all the same. Probably more. Unlike my father who’d left me without a care, she’d loved her children. I imagined her death must’ve broken his heart.
“Lorian?”
“Hmm?”
“What was your mother’s dying wish?”
He sighed as if he knew I’d ask this question, spilling the answer in one breath. “To never do any harm to the Cade family in some sort of revenge. To try to bridge the void between the races, which is why we’re at the forefront of the Morgons doing business with humans. To not wallow in anger after her death, which is what I’d been doing for many years in the Guard, postponing my place in the family business and beating the hell out of people.” He didn’t sound proud of the fact. “She also said—” He hesitated, clearing his throat nervously. It was a strange sound coming from Lorian. “For Lucius and I to follow our hearts, to find our mates and love them, no matter what race she might be.”
I held my breath, afraid he might try to kiss me. Soulfire. Jessen had told me that words couldn’t describe what it felt like, how it bonded you to your mate. All I knew is that once done, it couldn’t be undone. I cared for Lorian. Deeply. I knew that, but at the same time, fear gripped me every time he looked at me the way he was right now. As if he could hold onto me forever. In my experience, there was no such thing. Only the here and now. I was afraid he’d make some promise he’d never keep. No matter that I’d vowed to be with only him. Fear still had its talons in me.
He smiled, his hand skating up to cup one of my breasts, distracting me from dark thoughts. My body reacted instantly, tightening for him. A whimper escaped my lips.
His hand slid away, then he rolled me back on my side, leaning close to my ear, his lips hot on my skin. “It’s early, but not that early.”
His hand smoothed along the curve of my waist and hip, crossing in front and sliding between my legs. “Mmm. You’re ready for me.”
I arched my spine and brushed my bum against his morning surprise poking me from behind. I reached back over my shoulder with one arm and curled my fingers into his hair. “And you’re ready for me.”
He bit my neck. “Here. Let me show you.”
We were both late for work.
Chapter 9
“Be sure to put lots of eyeliner on him.”
“No. No eyeliner! I’ll take this powder crap, but nothing else, Sorcha. I already feel like a freakin’ girl as it is.”
I giggled, tousling Jed’s messy-chic hair.
“Fine. No eyeliner.” I winked. “You look hot as you are anyway.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, frowning at his reflection as the make-up girl fussed over him.
“Sorcha,” Willow called. She waved from the set, a back alley in the Warwick District. “Come meet my cousins.”
I sauntered over. Dwarfed by three silver-winged Morgons decked in denim and black leather, Willow giggled to something the tallest one said. All three of them had golden blond hair, fair skin, and eyes like blue glass. The family resemblance to Willow was striking. They could’ve been her brothers. When they all swiveled their gorgeous bodies in my direction, I smiled. Oh, yeah. These guys would definitely bring in the crowd. Girls would be swooning on opening night.
“Sorcha, this is Gallus, Cato, and Silvanus.”
“Hi.” I shook their hands. “We appreciate your efforts for the club. I hope practices are going well with Jed.”
The tallest, and apparently the eldest, Silvanus nodded. “For a human, he’ll do.”
I thought he was being an ass, till his chiseled face broke into a grin. If I was any other woman, not already smitten by another certain Morgon, I’d be a puddle of goo at his feet when he slammed me that look.
I laughed. “Good to hear it. I’m glad you could all come together on short notice for us.”
“We actually just lost our vocalist, so it was good timing,” said Cato, the one with the prettiest eyes, smiling at me in a strange sort of way.
“On the set!” yelled the photographer’s assistant.
The three men glanced at one another but said nothing as they strode back to the alley. Jed jogged up behind them, the make-up girl pattering after him to remove a cosmetic cloth tucked into his shirt. Jed muttered something under his breath. The other three laughed as they fell into a natural position around Jed. Damn if these boys wouldn’t need their own security guards to keep the women off them on opening night. Or any night for that matter.
“Willow?”
“Hmm?”
“Why were your cousins acting all weird?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. They just looked at me sort of like…like they had a secret or something.”
Willow stared at me like I was stupid, snapping out of it when I raised my eyebrows at her. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget humans can’t tell.”
“Can’t tell what?”
“That you’re, um, that you’re taken by a Morgon man.”
“Excuse me? What do you mean taken?”
Her mouth hung open as if trying to find the words. I rolled my eyes. “Oh, hell. You don’t mean the smell thing, do you?”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “And it’s stronger than ever, almost like you were, well, mated to Lorian.”
“Lorian? How did you know it was him?”
She tapped her nose and smiled. “I know his scent. My cousins probably find it amusing a human is wearing a Morgon man’s scent so strongly.”
Hmph. Before today, all I could feel was anger and resentment at the thought of Lorian branding me with his dragon mojo, but now I didn’t know how I felt.
That’s
a lie. I liked it. The only thing was…I wasn’t his mate. Not yet anyway. I wasn’t ready to take that kind of step, a permanent one which could mean the breaking of my own heart if he changed his mind later.
I shook those thoughts off and pivoted to watch the photographer’s assistant adjusting some lighting tripods in the alley. The photographer, James, was a sharp professional we contracted through Linden and Burke all the time. He had a way of finding the right angle for just the right mood. I told him I wanted gritty and hot. The models didn’t have to do much but stand there. He’d have to be an idiot not to capture what we were looking for. But knowing James’s caliber of expertise and artistry, we’d have a hell of a time choosing one of the many shots for our promo posters.
I watched James maneuver over and around the set, waving his assistant to pump more smoke onto the scene, snapping shots here and there. Everything was going perfectly. That’s when a prickle crept up my spine. I turned to the throng of Morgons and humans watching from across the street, held back by barricades and Nightwing Security. People jostled, pointing and gawking. All except one. A Morgon man in the back of the crowd, an extremely tall Morgon man. He must have been near seven feet, standing still in the shadows.
I angled my body to pretend I watched James giving direction. Someone in the crowd tried to cross over the barricade, but a security guard thrust them back. The throng fell as one, pushing the shadowed Morgon briefly into sunlight. All I caught was jet black hair and black wings. No, not black. Dark blue. He disappeared around the corner. Dark blue? I’d never seen a Morgon with his shade of wings before.
“Willow? Can you handle it from here? I need to take care of something at the office.”
“Sure. I’ve got it.”
I jumped into my car parked at the curb and sped off toward Nightwing Industries. Lorian needed to know. This could be him. The twisted cult fanatic stalking me. At the first red light, I peered up through my windshield, watching the Morgons flying high overhead. A flash of blue zipped directly over my car about three stories up.
Damn!
I punched in Lorian’s number on my car comm, speeding off just as the light turned green. He picked up on the first ring. “Yes.”
Windburn (Nightwing# 2) Page 8
