Swallowing thickly, Leyloni set Serek down, never removing her eyes from the cave opening.
She straightened and took a few tentative steps forward. “Arysteon?”
A sound emerged from the smoke cloud—a low grunt just on the border of being a groan. But it lacked the usual power of Arysteon’s sounds, the smallest of which always seemed to produce faint vibrations.
Something scraped on the floor, like someone taking a step with a dragging foot. Leyloni pressed forward, heartened by the sounds but no less uncertain. She had no idea what she would find. No idea what had happened.
The smoke curled and flowed, spreading as though there were movement within. A figure took shape within the gloom, dark, tall, and shaped like a man.
Leyloni stilled.
The figure moved toward her with stumbling, shuffling steps, swaying as though drunk or ill. A hand shot out to press against the cavern wall—a clawed hand covered in blue-green scales. That hand flexed, and Arysteon drew himself fully out of the smoke.
Her heart, which was racing faster than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, skipped a beat.
Leyloni’s eyes raked over him repeatedly, absorbing only little bits of detail with each pass—her mind seemed unable to piece it all together. Seeing a dragon for the first time had been astounding. This…this was somehow even more so.
Though his shape was undoubtedly that of a human, he was taller and broader of shoulder than anyone she’d ever seen, and his muscles were well-defined despite him being covered in scales. Those scales were larger and thicker on his elbows, shoulders, and chest. The latter of those were paler and tapered as they led down his abdomen to his pelvis, where instead of a cock was a vertical slit. His large hands had long, dexterous fingers. The black claws at their tips were far smaller than those he’d possessed in his dragon form but looked no less wicked.
His head was bowed, and long, straight hair—blue hair—hung over his face, blocking it from her view. But it did not hide his pointed ears or the double sets of long back horns sweeping back from his temple, the larger pair positioned above the shorter.
He leaned more heavily on the wall, bracing his forearm against it, and his tail swung to the side, making the wispy smoke curl. That tail was exactly as it had been in his dragon form, complete with the black, bony spikes along its length. It was just…smaller.
Arysteon grunted again. He lifted a hand, turning it toward his face, and froze. For several moments, he stared down at his palm.
“Arysteon,” Leyloni whispered.
His fingers twitched, and he resumed the motion of his hand, bringing it up to sweep back the hair dangling in his face. He raised his head as he tucked the hair behind his horns.
Leyloni’s heart leapt and her breath caught in her throat as those familiar violet eyes met hers.
He is beautiful.
Thick, slashing brows arched over those glowing eyes. His features were sharp—a chiseled jawline, a long, narrow nose, and full, sculpted lips.
Lips that Leyloni was suddenly desperate to feel against her own.
Leyloni’s desire came rushing back even stronger than before. Her sex clenched, and slick heat flooded her. She balled her fists at her sides. She wanted so badly to approach him, to touch him, to feel his scales beneath her fingertips, to know he was real, but she feared he would disappear if she moved. She was afraid that this was only a dream, that he would fade like the smoke from which he’d emerged.
She trailed her gaze down his body, again taking in his lean, muscular form, and her eyes rounded.
The slit on his pelvis parted, and his cock emerged from it—long, thick, hard, and slickened with secretions. It was dark purple and covered in tiny scales at its base, with thicker ridges along its length leading all the way to its bulbous head.
Arysteon released a deep, rumbling growl that resonated within her. “Leyloni.”
Leyloni’s gaze snapped up to his. The look on his savagely beautiful face weakened her knees and made her core ache with need, and the spark in his eyes was more intense than the lightning that had moments ago consumed him.
He was looking at Leyloni like there was nothing else in the world but her, like he was going to possess her, body and soul.
He was looking at her like she was his.
None of this was real.
Arysteon felt as though he were in a haze that had nothing to do with the lingering smoke. It was a surreal, dreamlike fog, an illusory shroud that warped his perception of everything, making the familiar seem strange.
His lair—which he’d known for many decades—had become an alien place. The root-tangled ceiling was far too high, the cracked, crumbling walls too far apart, the stone columns much too wide and tall. Even the debris on the floor seemed oversized.
Leyloni stood before him, not quite at eye level but much, much closer than she should have been. Just like his lair, she was far larger than normal. And he could not pry his gaze from her. Even in his disorientation, she was radiant, beautiful, and alluring. She was a beacon in the darkness. From this perspective, he could see every tiny brown spot on her otherwise pale skin, and he more than ever longed to run his tongue over each one.
His loins throbbed with desire, each thump of his heart sending a fresh wave of crackling lightning through his body. Energy flowed from his spark, coursed through limbs that were not his own, and returned to its source a little stronger. The sensation was a dull and diminished echo of what he’d endured in the wake of her touch, of the agony that he’d suffered.
Arysteon’s spark had surged with the might of ten thousand storms, and it had been infinitely more than he could bear. He had lost himself somewhere within it, had been unable to register anything beyond light and pain, had ceased to exist.
He clenched his fists, pressing the tips of his claws into his palms. He was upright, standing on two legs, on two strange, flat feet. His face was likewise flat—he could feel it even if he couldn’t see it. No more snout, no more gaping, toothy maw, no more long, powerful body.
Leyloni was real. Arysteon was real.
This was real.
And she belongs to me now.
His spark crackled in his chest as he raked his gaze over her again. Her damp hair was curling as it dried, slowly changing from its current dark bronze to its natural copper and gold. He had wondered what that hair would feel like so many times during the last couple days…
Her eyes were wide, gleaming with trepidation and wonder, as Arysteon pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. His body teetered, but he adjusted his tail and quickly found his balance. Each clumsy step was a little easier than the last. He was standing immediately before her within a few heartbeats.
Leyloni’s full, pink lips parted. Arysteon felt her in his heart, in his spark; even when he’d had his clan, he’d never felt this complete.
Arysteon released a slow breath and lifted a hand. It trembled as he moved it toward Leyloni’s face. She did not recoil from his touch, did not break eye contact with him. Gently, he caught a lock of her curls, rubbing it between the sensitive pads of his finger and thumb.
It was soft. So, so soft.
“Amazing,” he rasped.
Leyloni hesitantly placed her hand upon his chest. The heat of her palm baked through his scales, and he groaned at the feel of it, leaning into her touch—craving more of it.
“You are real,” she said, voice awed as she moved her fingers over his scales.
He settled his hand on her cheek and stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. Her skin was soft and smooth, so perfect. Her scent—a mixture of fresh blossoms, exotic fruit, and desire—permeated the air, stronger than ever, and he breathed it in greedily. The ache in his groin intensified, and his stem strained toward her.
“Leyloni,” he groaned, dropping his hands to her hips. He curled his fingers around her, battling his growing desire to feel her body flush against his, fighting to keep himself from yanking her closer. “My mate.”
Saying
it out loud seemed the most natural thing in the world—it was right, even knowing what he’d given up to make it so. His shape, his old life, his immortality; they were gone now. But he did not mourn them. Standing here like this, touching Leyloni and feeling her warmth, this alone was worth the price. He wanted this and so much more.
Arysteon wanted her. He wanted all of her.
Leyloni’s cheeks flushed, and she released a soft puff of air. She curled her fingers against his chest, and her blunt nails lightly scraped his scales. A shudder wracked him, coursing all the way to the tip of his tail, and his stem twitched. Seed seeped from its tip.
“You are mine?” she asked, easing closer to him, her eyes dipping to his mouth. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips.
Arysteon flexed his fingers against her hips. His gaze dipped as well, settling on those inviting lips. Did they feel different than the rest of her skin? “Until my final breath and forever after, Leyloni.”
A loud squeal came from behind Arysteon just before something grabbed the tip of his tail and tugged on it.
Arysteon’s brows shot up, and he straightened.
Serek, babbling happily, gave Arysteon’s tail another tug before yanking it rapidly up and down.
Laughter burst from Leyloni. “The little hunter has finally caught his prey.”
The corners of Arysteon’s mouth quirked up, and a different sort of warmth danced in his chest. He turned toward Serek, slipping his tail out of the child’s grasp as he did so. Serek dropped forward onto hands and knees to crawl after his prize. He hadn’t made it far before Arysteon caught him.
Arysteon lifted the hatchling until Serek met his gaze. The little human made more of his happy, nonsensical sounds before pressing his lips together and blowing. Spittle sprayed from between those tiny, flapping lips and dribbled down Serek’s chin, much to the hatchling’s amusement.
Though Serek seemed many times larger than before from this new perspective, he was still so small, so helpless. Arysteon’s spark crackled with new ferocity and determination. It was his duty to protect the hatchling—to protect Leyloni.
Arysteon held Serek as he’d seen Leyloni do so many times, drawing the little one against his chest and cradling Serek’s bottom with one arm. He turned to face Leyloni again, looking directly into her alluring green eyes.
My mate.
“The three of us are now a clan.” Catching Leyloni’s chin between his forefinger and thumb—his claws grazing her tender flesh—Arysteon tipped her face up and leaned closer. “I will blast this whole forest to cinder if that is what it takes to keep you and Serek safe. No creature, whether human, dragon, or otherwise, shall do you harm without facing my fury. You are mine, Leyloni.”
8
It was difficult for Leyloni to sit before this low-burning fire without reminiscing. She recalled so many other fires, so many other dark nights, and in every one of those memories were the people she’d loved.
Fires had been central to the life of the Moss tribe. She and her tribe sisters had built such fires during their hunts, warding off the cold and dark, roasting meat over the open flames and curing hides. Her people had kept carefully tended fires in their huts in the trees, gathering at night to eat, to tell stories, to sing and dance, to live.
Her favorite stories had always come from her father. Though Havil had been known for many things—like being the only male warrior of any tribe in the region—he’d perhaps been most beloved for his storytelling. Whether he was sharing one of the tribe’s old legends or recounting the impressive deeds of a living huntress, he’d instilled every tale with the appropriate enthusiasm, suspense, and degree of seriousness. Leyloni had learned so much from his storytelling, especially in how his stories, even those of events in which he’d partaken, had never been about him.
Havil had been about the tribe above all else, and he’d always had a talent for making everyone around him feel important and integral to the tribe’s survival. He’d been selfless.
Selfless to the very end.
But the sorrow of those memories, the all too fresh pain of those losses, could not outweigh Leyloni’s present feelings.
Night had long since fallen. The fire’s warm orange glow was in gentle defiance of the darkness beyond it, which would have seemed so impenetrable and ominous to Leyloni had she been by herself. With her tribe gone, her kin dead, and her home burned, a night as deep and black as this would have been enough to crush her. And part of her may well have welcomed the silent stillness of oblivion.
Yet she was not alone, and her wounded heart still bore ample room for joy. For love.
She was sitting on the blanket with Serek cradled in her arms, gently rocking the baby as he cuddled against her chest with one of his hands loosely curled over her heart. He stared up into her eyes so trustingly, so lovingly, that her chest ached with the love she felt for him.
And it was love. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t carried him in her womb, didn’t matter that she hadn’t birthed him, it didn’t matter that it had only been a few days since he’d come under her care. The feeling was there. The attachment was there. When they reached the Snow Tree tribe, she would claim Serek as hers. There was no way she’d give him up. He was hers…her son.
Serek’s eyelids fluttered, and his head lolled.
Leyloni lifted her hand, settled a finger upon his forehead, and lightly ran it down the bridge of his nose. His eyes closed. She smiled and repeated the action, feeling Arysteon’s gaze on her all the while.
I have a male. I have a mate.
Those thoughts had run through her mind repeatedly since the moment she’d touched her dragon. As much as she’d longed for a male, she’d never believed it would happen for her, and never would have imagined her mate would be a beastman like Arysteon.
The amazement on his face had not diminished since he’d changed around midday, having persisted through everything he’d done. Walking, running—and falling a few times—jumping, testing the dexterity of his new fingers by tying and untying knots, exploring his lair, which must have seemed so much larger to him now; Arysteon had done it all with plain wonderment in his features. He’d examined his own body many times, testing the range of movement afforded by his new limbs. He’d pushed his balance to its limits and beyond. When the rain had stopped earlier that evening, Arysteon had stepped outside and stared at the forest in fascination, and then he’d laughed with Leyloni and Serek as the three of them splashed in the puddles near the cavern’s entrance.
She had not missed how often his eyes had fallen upon her throughout the day. She had not missed that the fire in them was a little brighter, a little fiercer, every time.
And she could not ignore what his gaze made her feel.
She glanced up at her mate.
He was seated across from her with his legs crossed and his tail curled around him, its tip lazily flicking. His long, blue hair hung loose around his broad shoulders. The firelight made his scales glimmer, but it was his eyes, gleaming with that hungry spark, that she couldn’t look away from. They burned with a desire that warmed Leyloni infinitely more than any campfire could.
Her connection to Arysteon went far, far deeper than she’d imagined possible. She felt it within her heart; it was an unseen thing that tied her to this dragon in the most irrevocable way.
Arysteon smiled at her. Even with his pointed teeth, which should have been as imposing as any predator’s, the expression was alluring on him. It sent a thrill straight to Leyloni’s core, making her wet.
“Is the hatchling asleep?” he asked softly, breaking the spell he had cast upon her. His gaze dipped to Serek.
Leyloni looked down at the baby. Her finger had halted between his delicate little brows. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, and his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. “He is.”
With care, she stood and carried him to the little bed she’d made for him—a small ring of stones filled with soft moss and leaves atop which she’d placed hi
s blanket. It was positioned close enough to the fire to keep him warm and would prevent him from rolling too close to the flames in his sleep. She laid him down, covered him up, and leaned down to press her lips to his hair.
She could never replace Atalla, but Leyloni would give her all for Serek. She would be the best mother to him that she could.
Leyloni moved back to the blanket spread on the floor and sat down. Her eyes returned to Arysteon, requiring no conscious command from her to do so—they were as drawn to him as she was.
“So long as the rain does not return, we can leave in the morning,” she said.
He made a soft, thoughtful hum, and trailed his gaze around the cavern. She had no doubt that he could see far better than her in the darkness. What did he see that she could not? How did this place look through his eyes?
The cavern had become a haven to her, but only because of Arysteon. Without him, it would be as cold, empty, and lonely as any other cave.
“I have been here for a great many years.” His eyes returned to hers. “It will be a welcome change to travel again…and to do so with my clan beside me. With my mate beside me.”
My mate.
Leyloni’s cheeks flooded with heat. She wasn’t sure if she would ever tire of hearing those words from him. They instilled her with happiness, with pride, with…pleasure.
Being chosen by a male was a great honor. Leyloni, however, had never been selected as a wife to one of the three young, virile males in her tribe, though they’d each taken many. She recognized that she bore much of the blame for that. She’d always lurked on the outskirts of the crowd, hiding and daydreaming, too shy to step forward and flirt with the men like her tribe sisters so often had.
She had regretted that shyness for a long while, but now…now she was glad for it. She had been chosen.
She had been chosen by a dragon.
Leyloni reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. The brush of her fingertips over her cheek made her skin tingle, conjuring the memory of Arysteon’s touch. She’d felt the impossible strength in his hand, had marveled at its unbelievable gentleness, had melted for its warmth. She wanted more.
To Love A Dragon; Venys Needs Men Page 8
