Monsters, Book Two: Hour of the Dragon

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “Oh fuck,” she whined helplessly as one hand moved over her breasts and the other sank lower toward the aching throb between her legs.

  Let me help you, little one.

  Anna’s eyes flew open. But she was alone in the bathroom.

  No, she thought. You said I could choose this.

  I promise to keep my teeth to myself. Until you want them.

  The image of his fangs piercing her skin sent another hard wave of covetous craving rampaging through her nerve endings, and she moaned softly. Her hand continued to move lower.

  You wouldn’t break your promise?

  He laughed softly. Raindrop, you’re becoming a dragon. I’d have to be suicidal to pick a fight with you.

  A dragon, her thoughts repeated, suddenly mystified. It was true… she really was becoming one. Anna thought about that for a moment, the reality of her inevitable transformation washing over her, bitter sweet and strong.

  She imagined that the way she felt might be a little like the way people felt before cosmetic surgery. It was a contrasting emotion, part remorse for leaving behind what they were born with or had known for a long time, and part comforting hope that what they were going to do was better. Except in her case, she had no choice. It was this or death.

  You were born a dragon, Annaleia.

  Anna blinked and straightened.

  His words echoed off the chambers of her soul. It’s been inside you from day one, he told her as the hot water beat down on her. You’re just going to accept your true form. That’s all.

  His words comforted and soothed her in a way she was not expecting. It was as if that was what she had needed to hear all along. She’d needed to know that this wasn’t a mistake, that she wasn’t throwing away a precious gift out of ungratefulness or waste or greed. But that she was simply accepting a different gift, one she was meant to accept all along.

  A sharp twinge of pleasure-pain wrenched her from her thoughts to pin her attention on her body once more. She stifled a moan, biting her lip and closing her eyes again while her hands returned helplessly to their task.

  I can take the pain away, he purred into her mind.

  The promise was so sweet, so very, very sweet. But what he’d said was true. Anna was becoming a dragon. And dragons were strong. At least, they were stubborn anyway.

  I don’t need you, she coyly lied. I can take away my own pain.

  Just because she was becoming a dragon didn’t mean she automatically had to submit to Ares – or to anyone. Right? The world would submit to her! There was no denying a dragon; dragons were strong! Indomitable!

  There was laughter in her mind, low and sinister. Antares stepped into the bathroom, the sound of his boots on the polished stone floor unmistakable. Anna’s heart leapt, slamming back down hard before it sped up. But she let him come, her eyes on the opaque crystal shower door. Like someone crazed, she gingerly brushed her fingers over herself and shuddered.

  Ares slowly slid back the door and looked her in the eyes. “You aren’t one of us just yet, Raindrop.”

  His eyes skewered her, held her to the spot.

  “But I am.” He smiled, showing her those fangs that he’d promised he would not sink into her. “And you’re right. There’s nothing stronger than a dragon.”

  Anna made a helpless sound where she stood, trembling, beneath the water’s steady stream and her hands moved of their own desperate accord. Ares watched her steadily, his expression an unyielding mask. But his eyes were glowing purple. There was so much of that dragon rolling off him in stifling, delicious, deadly-sweet waves, it was patently evident what he was thinking – what he was feeling.

  She looked up into that black-lightning gaze and very softly, through gasps of wretched desire and even more wretched pleasure, she said, “Just so you know. I don’t belong to you.” She spoke the words as if she meant just the opposite. His slow smile was one of both amusement and pride. “Not fifty years ago,” she continued shakily, “not now, n-not fifty years from now.”

  She pressed her fingers inward, and as they slid over the smooth slickness of her tormented heat and the breath went from her lungs, Ares very calmly stepped into the shower. Slowly, tenderly, he raised his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. She couldn’t help but lean into his touch, but her neck remained craned so she could see him, and her eyes remained locked into the gravity wells of his gaze.

  “And just so you know, Raindrop,” he said in his beautiful, deep voice, “you were mine the moment you turned the corner in that hallway and stepped into my view fifty-two years ago. You’ve been mine every moment since. And you will be mine every moment to come.”

  Anna’s body bucked when she felt the fingers of his other hand slide over hers between her legs and then sink into her, giving her just the right charged pressure she needed to send her into another climax. “Yes,” she finally surrendered, allowing him to take over and closing her eyes. Gods, yes.

  Chapter Forty-nine – Dragon’s Den

  Ares kept his word. He wasn’t going to use his teeth on her until she was ready.

  He couldn’t keep the monster in him from showing; when he got around her, his eyes shifted, his teeth came out, and every possessive, hungry attribute to him came out to play. But he kept himself from sinking into her – in more ways than one – and used everything else in his admittedly well-stocked arsenal to help Annaleia through the volatile sensations that were the craven side effects of Sterling’s spell.

  She was so recklessly beautiful, so wild and wanton, he couldn’t trust himself to focus on his own needs. His dick stayed in his pants so that his teeth would stay out of her throat. He just fucking knew that if he allowed himself the one, he would allow himself the other. Not a damn thing in the realms could have stopped him.

  So this was her time. And the “dominant” one of the pair was the one undergoing masochistic misery.

  Somehow Ares kept going. Vehemently spoken swear words and wicked strong alcohol from inhuman realms had become his nearly constant companions, but he bided his time like a good dragon. He did this because he knew what was going on in Annaleia’s head. She felt guilty and she was afraid. Having the ability to resurrect had allowed her to save countless lives, including hers and the lives of her family members. She wasn’t ready to throw the gift away, and she had no idea whether it would still be there when she was no longer a Withered, but a dragon.

  And then there was that. When it came down to it, no matter how much a person might dream of becoming something as great and frightening as a dragon, of having that vast power of size and strength over everyone around them, the fact remained – becoming something terrifying was a terrifying prospect.

  She needed time to come to grips with it all, and now that the spell was activated, he could technically give her that time.

  If he didn’t fucking die first.

  In the meantime, she explored his cavern and its many rooms and extensions, some of which defied dimensionality and stretched to encompass vast quantities of land or space. But he never actually let her out of his sight. He didn’t have to, not here in his home. He could feel her everywhere she went, almost see her in his mind’s eye, and he could sure as hell hear her.

  When she was in the main part of the cave, she tried to read his books and used the hot tub and the pool.

  That was a hellish kind of pleasure for Ares – Annaleia in the hot tub. It was a dichotomous mixture of allure and torture because she would inevitably wind up in the hot tub naked. He would try so hard to avoid listening or looking when she did, but eventually he would fail and find her touching herself. Needing release. It was the whole reason she got into the water in the first place most times.

  And he would soon wind up there too, also touching her. Those were the moments he proved to himself that he, too, was strong. They were also the moments followed with the most copious amounts of alcohol.

  But when she wasn’t in the hot tub, he never stopped touching her. She ne
ver wanted him to stop. It was a good compromise. He would come up behind her, slide his hand beneath her top, and feel her shudder under his fingertips. He would run his fingers through her hair and tug, just ever so gently so he could see the pulse in her throat. Beckoning him.

  He would sit down immediately beside her and run his hand unabashedly up her thigh. She would drop her book and let her head fall back against the couch cushions. And then he would pull her into his lap so he could fondle her through her clothing.

  It was on the night of the first twenty-four hours that Ares had given up trying not to touch more of her bare skin. When he pulled her into his lap this time, he simply held her there while he unfastened her jeans and told her to open for him. He couldn’t help but catch her surface thoughts then, and they spurred him on with spiking need. He pressed his fingers inside her, thumbed her clitoris, and palmed her perfect breasts, skimming their taut, aching nubs until she came around his fingers.

  He brought her to two more climaxes on his lap, searing the image of her slender, writhing form in his memory before he finally let her go so he could down a six-pack of Tuathan ale. Then a bottle of Taal wine. He made her drink some too, not only because he knew it would help her, but because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. Candy being dandy and liquor being quicker – and all that.

  By the second night, Ares was losing his fucking mind. He had all but decided it was time to finish the spell once and for all. He could do that. He was the dominant spellcaster here. He could sink into his blazing, beguiling little mate with everything he had, take what he fervently needed, and break a promise just once in his wretched life, couldn’t he?

  But he knew he couldn’t, especially not with her. And besides – he didn’t think he was going to need to. His svelte little dragon-to-be was almost relentlessly consumed by the spell’s compelling urges now, and she was weakening under their prolonged effects. Thank the gods.

  By the time his sharp hearing caught the blessed sound of a final, reeling sob of anguish come from the guest bedroom where she’d gone to change, Ares was already slipping slightly into the mindless maelstrom that would allow his dragon out once more.

  He put down the book he’d been reading, stood from the leather sofa he’d been reclined on, and transported with no more than a thought.

  Annaleia was bent, her shaking arms braced against the dresser in the room, her shoulders hunched, her body wracked by some ravishing surge of arousal that left her drenched in sweat, barely able to stay on her feet. When she looked up and saw Ares in the mirror directly behind her, the pained look on her beautiful face became one of pliant, relieved surrender.

  His gaze on her in the mirror was like a brand now, hot, heavy, burning its way into her. He waited, his entire body a rod of havoc-inducing obsession. But he waited.

  And finally – finally – Annaleia nodded. Just once. It was all she could manage.

  It was all he needed.

  When Ares bent to lift her off her feet, her eyes were all-pupil, her lids heavy. He strode with her to his master bedroom, where he all but threw her onto his bed.

  Before she could move away in her frenzied writhing, he was on her, grabbing her small form to pull her to her knees, spin her around, and maneuver to the head of the bed. There, he pinned her stomach against the carved stone headboard, which had been built into the wall of the cavern.

  Column-like posters had been carved out of the rock so they stood separate and tall, thick and strong at each of the bed’s four corners. Anna glanced at the posters and shivered, the images they conjured up only adding to the fever-pitch of her aching body. He could read in her thoughts that she knew right away what they were for. And she was right.

  He laughed darkly and grabbed her hands, placing them on the lip of the stone headboard and squeezing until she held it of her own accord. He lowered his lips to her ear. “Hold on,” he growled. “Do not let go.”

  A split second later, Ares grasped the front of her sweat-damp shirt from behind with both hands. He pulled, fast and clean, and she cried out in surprise as the material was shredded, exposing her quivering form to the cavern air. Impatiently, Ares tossed the scraps to the side and moved in to press his chest against her back and his lips to her throat.

  His very sharp teeth scraped threateningly, promisingly. She shuddered at the feel of them, and at his words. “Three times,” he reminded her a little cruelly. This would only be the second. Her poor little body had so far to go to pacify the waking monster within her. It wasn’t going to be easy for her.

  He smiled at the thought.

  That’s what she got for making him wait so long.

  Chapter Fifty – Dragon’s Den

  Annaleia was reeling from the flood of sensation she had already experienced to this point. She had been rocked to her core by everything he’d done to her that first night and in the hours since. And now the thought that she was going to have to feel it twice more was destabilizing her in a frightening way.

  But his body flexed around her, as possessive and hard as the stone of the headboard she grasped onto. Feel me, Leia. I’m real. I’m here. The contrast of her body against his when he was fully clothed was heady. It served to further intensify her vulnerability to him. I’m going to get you through this and finish it. His words in her mind were meant to comfort her, in direct contrast to what his body was doing to her.

  His fingers found the button on her jeans and she tensed, suddenly afraid that he planned to do the same thing with her jeans that he’d done with the shirt. His laughter in her ear was all fury and reckless desire, more monster than man. “You can take it, little dragon. You know you can. Now do not let go. You don’t move.”

  This time, the denim bit into her before it tore away, ripping a cry of surprise and pain from her lungs. But the pain was deadened by the knowledge that the spell they both wore would protect their bodies from any real harm – and by the pleasure he heaped on her as he destroyed her belongings.

  She tried very hard not to make the kinds of desperate sounds that were trying to escape her throat. There was still some fragment of the woman inside her that had been strong in the face of his power, and that fragmented woman didn’t want to let on how much he was getting to her. But as she held on to the headboard and her fingernails dug ineffectually into the smooth, un-giving rock and the cool air kissed her exposed flesh, she was well aware she’d already lost. This was the heated moment in which every lust-torn lover recognized that they were slaves, and their lovers’ control over them was absolute.

  Anna felt drugged when he laughed again, his lips brushing her ear, the dark and sexy sound as effective as opium and aphrodisiacs. He snaked one strong arm around her chest, locking her against him. She sucked in a breath when his hand curled over the top front of her panties, and his arm kept her from pulling away. He waited just long enough to lean in and place a gentle kiss to the side of her neck before ripping the small shred of material from her heated body. She was so slick-wet at her core, the underwear stuck to her for a beat before peeling away to expose her to the air and Ares’ hungry graze.

  She clenched her teeth harder and closed her eyes. But his lips remained by her ear and his arm continued to cage her as he rid her of her bra in much the same manner. She gasped at the sharp pain again, and this time when she exhaled, her breath was shaking. Her breasts were exposed, her nipples hardening painfully, her longing making her want to curl in on herself. But Ares wouldn’t let her. His embrace stretched her out in front of him, and his view was clear straight down her body.

  Damn you’re hot, woman, he growled in her head. I fucking love it when you’re horny.

  Anna bristled, opening her eyes to look at him over her shoulder. But whatever she’d been planning on saying to him, it died on her tongue when he caught her chin with his fingers and held her gaze with his own.

  “That’s my little dragon,” he told her softly. She got lost in him again, staring up at eyes that searched hers
and reminded her that he was her best friend. The same one she’d given herself to fifty years ago.

  He gave her a soft smile, leaned in, and gently brushed his lips over hers in a whisper of a kiss, a touch so soft it was at painful odds to the cage of his arm around her and the way he’d ripped off her clothes.

  When he pulled back, his thumb lovingly brushed the cleft of her chin. As he watched her so tenderly, Anna’s tension melted a little, her body relaxing ever so slightly in his embrace. Then he lowered his head to peer at her through the top of a very cruel gaze and Anna’s eyes widened. Her hot, wet core suddenly contracted painfully with need, her clitoris and breasts throbbing to the point of rendering her breathless. She tried to move, to escape the blatant flood of arousal that was far stronger than any she’d experienced through Sterling’s spell. But this was all Ares, and he wasn’t letting her go anywhere.

  How… cruel are you? she wondered mindlessly as she struggled to breathe. A low keening climbed her throat, escaping through her tightly clenched teeth. He gently claimed her mouth with his, the kiss still deceptive, purely a cover for the torture as more wanton need blossomed like fireworks inside her and Ares swallowed her wordless cry.

  She began to release the headboard, her fingers sliding over the stone with the intent to ease the massive building pressure inside her, but Ares’ words whispered through her mind. I told you not to let go, little dragon.

  A sob escaped her when a prolonged wave of oblivion took hold of her and Ares slowly broke their kiss. Anna re-claimed the stone out of self-preservation, squeezing the headboard harder than ever as her lover’s lips trailed across her cheek to her ear. “Good girl.” And then to the side of her throat. One hand fisted in her hair allowed Ares to pull gently, exposing the unprotected white column of her throat.

  The arm he caged her to him with slowly relented in its hold to slide down her body, his fingers carving a quivering, branded trail of blazing nerve endings behind them. At her abdomen, he paused as if to soak in the feel of her naked form beneath his grip.