As quickly as it had emerged, the lightning flickered out. Pavoss’s body was reduced to a charred husk, bits of ash flaking free to be swept away by the breeze along with the smoke.
Arysteon raised his head high and roared into the heavens. The sound rolled across the forest like booming thunder, proclaiming his victory, his dominance, his indisputable claim on this territory and on his mate.
The roar faded slowly, as did its echoes, leaving Arysteon’s throat raw and burning. When he lowered his head, he didn’t spare his fallen foe a single glance; he shoved away from the blackened remains and turned toward Leyloni, letting his bond with her guide him. His steps were clumsy and uncertain, his legs oddly weak and unsteady, his tail overly heavy and awkward. He stumbled into trees, and his dragging claws snagged on gnarled roots more than once. His thumping heartbeat seemed the only sound in the world apart from his labored breaths.
Every one of his injuries made itself known in those moments—every cut, every gash, every bit of bruised flesh, every loose scale, and the sting encompassing most of his snout. The scent of his own scorched scales lingered in his nostrils. Deep, pulsating aches coursed along his back and through his limbs, strong enough to nearly make his knees buckle.
But he pressed forward regardless, pressed forward through that pain, and his heartbeat quickened as he neared Leyloni.
However much of his own blood was running over his scales, however much damage he’d suffered, it was worth it to keep her safe. To keep his little clan safe.
The breeze picked up, flowing over his body in a soothing caress that was tainted only by the odor of scorched dragon flesh. He shivered at the slight chill; normally, he would barely have noticed it.
The brush up ahead rustled, leaves shaking as Leyloni, holding Serek in her arms, emerged from hiding. She met Arysteon’s gaze immediately, and her eyes rounded with worry, with helplessness and fear—with love.
He could only imagine how he must have looked to her, but he knew well how he felt—grateful. Relieved. Loved and in love.
Arysteon meant to tell her he was all right, that his wounds would heal, that he only needed some time to rest and recover, but what value had words in that moment? Drawing upon the remaining strength in his diminished spark, he forced himself forward again.
With a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, his spark exploded, consuming him utterly.
On his next step, it was not a clawed paw that came down on the ground but a clawed hand, similar in shape to a human’s. Arysteon’s long hair tumbled around his shoulders and in his face. The air was laden with that crisp, familiar lightning scent.
Arysteon pushed himself up onto his feet, claiming balance by adjusting his tail. The pain from his many wounds lingered now only in phantom sensations, their immediacy having fled in the wake of his change.
He once again met Leyloni’s gaze—this time from much closer to her eye level—and took a step toward her.
She raced forward, closing the distance between them in the span of a couple heartbeats, and crashed into him. Arysteon swayed from her momentum, and she threw an arm around his neck to draw him into a tight embrace. A sob escaped her.
Serek patted Arysteon’s face and shoulders, babbling happily. Spittle trickled down his chin.
Arysteon wrapped his arms around his mate and youngling, tipping his head down to rest his cheek atop Leyloni’s hair.
She tightened her hold on him. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
“Never,” he said, filling his nostrils with her scent to chase away the other smells that had assailed him.
“Your wounds!” Leyloni abruptly withdrew and ran her gaze over him, her eyes shining with tears. Her brows creased. “They…they are gone!” She touched her fingers to his neck, chest, and shoulder, trailing her fingers over the places where he’d been slashed, bitten, and battered, calling up echoes of his pain. Her caress soothed any lingering discomfort.
He followed the movements of her hand with his eyes. The scales over which her fingertips glided were undamaged, displaying no sign of the wounds Pavoss had inflicted. But Arysteon’s confusion and wonder at that was overpowered by the tantalizing heat following in the wake of her touch. His heart sped as that heat suffused him.
Arysteon clenched his teeth against the sudden bloom of desire within his loins—though he knew there was nothing sudden about it. The comet was still working its magic upon him, and he would have been hungry for his mate regardless, especially considering the challenge he’d just faced. His every instinct was to reassert his claim on her now. To fill her with his seed again and again, until she smelled of naught but him.
Serek, wanting to help, slapped his hand against Arysteon’s chest and shoulder. And the gesture was helpful in its own way, providing enough of a distraction to break Arysteon from the strengthening grasp of his need.
“You were bleeding,” Leyloni said, gently catching the baby’s hand and lifting her gaze to meet Arysteon’s.
Arysteon cupped her cheek in his palm, brushing the pad of his thumb across her soft skin. “I… When the change takes me, I feel myself being unmade, and my body is reborn from my spark. That must have undone my wounds as well.”
Leyloni leapt at him again, throwing her arm around his neck and hugging him tight. “I do not care how it happened, only that you are alive and here.”
Serek leaned forward and rested his forehead against Arysteon’s, hugging his cheeks as he babbled, seemingly in agreement with Leyloni.
Arysteon held them close, chest filling with warmth that had nothing to do with the comet.
20
Leyloni laughed as Serek, who was clutching her fingers for support, walked in front of her with hurried, stumbling steps. When she released him, he took several more steps before he lost his balance and plopped onto the grass with a delighted squeal. Sticking his fur covered bottom in the air, he pushed himself up, only to immediately tumbled to the side.
Her grin widened as Arysteon growled and gave chase to Serek. The baby giggled and crawled away, but he didn’t make it far before he was swooped up into Arysteon’s arms. Arysteon lowered Serek onto his feet and held his hands, helping the little one walk just as Leyloni had a moment before.
She knew the Snow Tree village was somewhere nearby—this was the area her father had described, and she’d found signs of hunting parties having been nearby, though all those signs had been days old. As eager as she was to find the Snow Trees, she was in no true hurry. This time with Arysteon and Serek was precious, and she wanted as much of it as she could have.
The days had been calmer since the passing of the Crimson Comet—Arysteon had been calmer. The urgent, desperate, bestial edge to his appetite for her had softened, allowing them to make love with slow-burning passion, to explore one another’s bodies fully and discover new means and heights of pleasure.
Even with the comet gone, his desire had only seemed to increase as of late. He’d mentioned a change to her scent—that it had become somehow sweeter, fuller, and impossibly more alluring, heightening his want and possessiveness of her. He worshipped her and dominated her in equal parts, his actions strong, firm, and decisive, and frequently went out of his way to ensure her pleasure above his own. That air of ferocity he’d taken on during the Heat had never quite faded.
Leyloni didn’t mind; she loved his savage side and relished the thrill it sparked within her.
She thought back to how he’d woken her that morning, just before the dawn—with his head buried between her thighs and his tongue thrusting into her sex. He’d withdrawn his tongue as she’d roused, using its forked tips to tease her pleasure bud. He’d coaxed her essence from her and drank ravenously, unable to get enough. She had come three times, each climax more powerful than the last, before Arysteon positioned himself over her and plunged his cock into her sex, staking his claim on her again and again. In the heat of his passion, he’d clamped his teeth down on her shoulder, leaving a mark.
The
flash of pain had only enhanced her pleasure, and her body had reacted, exploding in a torrent of ecstasy that had left her beyond speech or thought. For those moments, there was only Arysteon and Leyloni alone in all existence, there was only the song made by their bond, rising to create something magical and unbreakable.
Her sex clenched at the memory, slicking her inner thighs. She reached up to touch the tender bite marks on her shoulder.
A breeze blew in from behind her, and Arysteon tensed, his tail flicking before he turned and met her gaze. His nostrils flared and his tongue lashed out to taste the air. Heat burned in Leyloni’s core. She knew it was her he was tasting. His eyes shifted to her shoulder—to her hand upon the bite marks—and his gaze darkened with hunger.
“Leyloni,” he growled. His tongue slipped out again.
She dropped her hand, trailing it down her front, and he followed it with his eyes. Leyloni blushed as she caught the hem of her skirt and eased it just a little higher, her own eyes trained on Arysteon’s slit as it bulged and parted. “Serek is bound to grow tired soon en—”
“Do not move,” a female commanded from somewhere ahead.
Before Leyloni could register what was happening, Arysteon was in motion, his scales a teal blur. He snatched Serek off the ground, deposited the baby in her arms, and positioned himself between them and the newcomer, teeth bared and claws at the ready.
Six women, all dressed in leathers and furs, stepped out from the nearby tree cover, four wielding spears and two with bows and arrows. Their weapons were all aimed at Arysteon.
Leyloni’s heart skipped a beat before recognition struck her. The straight, thick white lines of paint marking the women’s cheeks and foreheads were just like those she’d seen on the traders who’d visited her village years before. Traders from the Snow Tree tribe.
She pushed forward to stand in front of Arysteon. “You are Snow Trees, yes? I am Leyloni, daughter of Sahara and Havil of the Moss tribe. We come seeking refuge. Please, lower your weapons.”
Arysteon growled and grasped her shoulder, pulling her back. “Behind me, Leyloni.”
She tried to shrug off his hand, but he was too strong, and within a moment he was before her again, shielding her with his big, powerful body. The females that were still in Leyloni’s view shied back slightly, keeping their weapons raised and their eyes wary.
One of the women stepped forward, her brows hard set. “What is this beast that walks and talks like a man?”
Leyloni forced herself to Arysteon’s side, angling Serek away from the weapons, and met the woman’s gaze. “His name is Arysteon, and he is a dragon.” She raised her chin. “He is also my mate.”
The woman’s eyes flared wide, and her companions gasped collectively.
“A dragon?” another woman asked.
“They are real?” said a third.
The woman who’d spoken first narrowed her eyes. “The stories do speak of dragons turning into human men…”
“He is not a human man”—one of the females lowered her spear and eased closer, her gaze intent upon Arysteon—“but he is male.”
Leyloni narrowed her eyes at the woman and was unable to hold in a growl.
“Is it true?” the first woman asked Arysteon. “You are a dragon?”
“I am,” Arysteon replied, a rough edge in his voice, “and I mean you and your people no harm. We have traveled far to find you.”
The woman’s features softened, and she returned her attention to Leyloni. “You are Leyloni of the Moss tribe, you say? You are not the first of your people to come seeking refuge.”
Leyloni’s chest constricted. Not the…first? “What?”
The woman motioned to her companions, and they lowered their weapons. “My name is Sigrun. Come. I will take you to our elders, and you may see your tribe sisters. So long as your beastman means us no harm, we welcome you.”
“Dragon,” Arysteon grated.
“As you say, beastman,” Sigrun replied with a smirk before she turned, waving for them to follow.
Arysteon frowned, a crease forming between his brows. Leyloni brushed her fingers down his arm. He met her gaze and released a huff through his nostrils.
Smiling, Leyloni leaned closer and kissed his jaw. “You are my beastman.”
She felt a contented rumble from his chest, and he eased visibly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
They walked together, entering the thick copse of trees behind Sigrun. The other huntresses followed behind and beside them. The tension had faded from their initial encounter, and the huntresses walked with a casual air, whispering to one another in awe. Leyloni knew without looking that they were gawking at Arysteon in open admiration.
Something dark and ugly filled her chest. It was an emotion she’d never experienced before, but she knew what it was.
Jealousy.
Leyloni wrapped her free arm around Serek and held him closer. She’d had Arysteon to herself for so long, and now that they weren’t alone anymore, she found herself irritated by the way the other females were staring at her mate. It didn’t help that Arysteon was still naked, with his taut backside and the alluring slit between his legs on full display. When it had been just Leyloni, Serek, and Arysteon, it hadn’t mattered. But now…
She wanted to claw out the eyes of every female who dared look upon him.
After a while, Sigrun led them onto a narrow game trail, where Arysteon had no choice but to relinquish his hold on Leyloni. She purposefully positioned herself behind him, shielding his backside from the view of the huntresses walking in line behind her. It was a small thing, a petty thing, but she drew some satisfaction from it.
The group walked for the better part of the afternoon, eventually leaving the game trail as the ground rose in a gradual, rocky slope. Sigrun and a few of the other females made easy conversation, often going out of their way to include Leyloni and Arysteon. They also made faces at Serek, which made him grin and giggle.
After being without her tribe sisters for so long, this was all bizarre to Leyloni, it was all so surreal. She felt at points as though she were walking through a dream. The forest around her was unlike anywhere she’d ever been and yet exactly the same as so many of the places she’d walked with Serek and Arysteon, and she had no idea how far the group had traveled, had no idea how many times one of the women whispered to another about Arysteon and giggled.
Whenever he could, Arysteon let her know he was there, that he was hers, through touch—a brush of his fingers on her skin, a squeeze of her hand, the caress of his tail against her calf. It was enough to settle her; before long, her budding anticipation was overpowering that bitter jealousy.
“Oshana, sound the horn,” Sigrun said.
One of the other huntresses withdrew a horn from her satchel. It was long, curved, and hollow, undoubted a trophy from some large beast, but Leyloni could not guess what it had come from. Oshana raised the narrow end of the horn to her lips. When she blew, a high, clear call rang across the sky and echoed between the trees.
It was answered moments later by a similar sound from some distance ahead.
“What is the purpose of those calls?” Arysteon asked, scanning their surroundings warily.
Leyloni could guess at his thoughts—those sounds could easily have lured hostile creatures toward them.
“It is so our sisters know we approach,” Sigrun replied, “and will have the lift prepared.”
“The lift?” Arysteon’s suspicion had shifted toward confusion.
“You will see,” said Oshana as she tucked the horn away.
Sigrun smiled and waved them along. “We are almost there.”
She led them onward, and they were soon forced to walk one-behind-another through a small ravine with rock walls on either side that rose even over Arysteon’s head. Unlike the game trail, which had been flanked by greenery and open forest on either side, this path felt closed-in and restrictive, instilling a slight sense of unease in Leyloni. It made her fe
el trapped.
That feeling fled when they emerged from the other end of the ravine and the forest opened before Leyloni. The terrain continued up an easy slope, and there were large faces of exposed rock amidst the towering trees. Massive fir trees stood in large clusters, bare of branches until quite high off the ground, and their needles created brown carpets across much of the forest floor. But the trees more common where her tribe had lived—the giant oaks, elms, and maples—were still present aplenty. Golden afternoon sunshine poured through the canopy in majestic pillars, granting the scene an otherworldly air.
Leyloni’s eyes shifted upward, and what she saw stopped her in her tracks.
Platforms and huts were built on and around the largest trees, so high that even Arysteon couldn’t have reached them in his dragon form. They were connected by bridges of rope and wood, and there were people up there, talking and working, going about their lives just as Leyloni’s tribe had once done.
Tears welled in her eyes. It had been impossible not to think of home, of her people, of all who had been lost, every single day since she’d left. But this place, which was so reminiscent of her village, stirred all the feelings she’d suppressed for so long. All that sadness, all that grief she’d held at bay—it all rushed back in that instant.
She would have loved to be able to go back home, to find her tribe’s huts still intact and her people alive and well. To realize that the horrors of the last several weeks had been little more than a nightmare.
No. That is not what I want.
Because finding Arysteon was not part of that nightmare. The bond she had forged with him, with Serek, was not a nightmare. She would give up so much to have her home and her people back, but she would not give up Arysteon and Serek. Perhaps that made her selfish…but she would not change it.
This place was not the village in which she’d been birthed, it was not the place where she’d grown up, and these people were not the tribe sisters she’d known and loved—but this could be her home. This could be her family’s home. And she refused to look upon it and think only of what she had lost when there was so much more left to her life.
To Love A Dragon; Venys Needs Men Page 20
