by Jory Strong
No regrets. Keep emotional baggage to the minimum. Those were the lessons she’d learned growing up.
A lot of women would have been bitter and vengeful at having a husband announce he’d finally accepted his homosexuality and ask for a divorce, her mother hadn’t been. Hurt, yes. Heartbroken—for a time. But she’d let it go and moved on, making sure Jazzlyn knew both her parents loved her and were glad they’d been together long enough for her to be born.
“How does this work?” Jazzlyn asked, looking from the music box to Aislinn.
“Every…reading, for lack of a better word, is different. Sometimes I’m more of an observer than anything else. Other times I feel what the person feels and experience what’s happening to them in the present, or I experience what has already happened to them, though usually not more than about thirty minutes into the past.”
Aislinn picked up the music box and closed her eyes. Kirill’s hand tightened on Jazzlyn’s and she was grateful to have him with her.
A minute passed, crawling by with agonizing slowness. Another crept by, equally nerve-racking. Then another.
Jazzlyn fought to keep from fidgeting, worried that her breathing was loud and distracting. She caught the subtle shifts in Aislinn’s expression and tried not to read terrible meanings into them, but by the time Aislinn opened her eyes, Jazzlyn felt close to nausea. “Anything?”
“I’ve got an address.” Aislinn’s eyebrows drew together. “Beyond that, I couldn’t pick up much. Hints of anger and fear but not full-blown terror or panic.”
“So maybe there’s nothing wrong. Maybe Caro and her current boyfriend are off somewhere fighting and I overreacted when she didn’t show up for the party.”
Even as Jazzlyn said it, it didn’t feel true to her. “Trust your instincts,” Aislinn said, setting the music box on the table and scribbling an address on a scrap piece of paper, her movements slow and concentrated, as if using her gift left her depleted of energy. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
“This is more than I would have been able to find on my own.”
Jazzlyn picked up the piece of paper then glanced at the music box, hesitant to take it with her or handle it until she’d checked out the address. She hated to ask but she had to know. “Can you read the same object twice? If there’s reason to think a situation has changed?”
“I should be able to. I need some time to recover in between attempts. If you want to leave the music box here, you can. Home is the only place I’m going when I leave the shop. You’ve got my cell number. I can come back if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Jazzlyn said, truly grateful for Aislinn’s help.
They left a few minutes later, Jazzlyn’s heart doing its crazy flip-flop when Kirill turned down both the suggestion he retrieve his car and follow, and her offer to let him drive hers.
“So you’re conceding I’m an excellent driver,” she teased as she pulled into traffic. He definitely seemed more relaxed than he had on the way to Caro’s apartment.
“I believe I can occupy my mind with thoughts other than those of imminent death.”
She should probably be offended, but the purr was back in his voice, making her insides quiver. How did he do that?
Jazzlyn smiled as an image surfaced—his face in that instant it’d been captured in the mirror and she would have sworn it was outlined by a dragon with the same silver with blue as the heartmate stones.
His aura maybe? Or more likely, a hint at his true personality.
A soft laugh escaped. He definitely had some very dragonish traits, including the ability to make her go up in flames.
“Something amuses you?”
There was a delicious hint of menace in his question, the kind promising sexual retribution and causing erotic fear to flicker in her belly. “Do you like fantasy?”
His chuckle was purely masculine. “Yes. You’ve starred in a great many of mine, though I’m sure they’ll pale in comparison to the reality of what we’ll find together.”
Her face flamed but she couldn’t suppress the smile or the way pleasure and anticipation danced along her skin with his words. “Not that kind of fantasy. Fantasy as in reading books or seeing movies with supernatural beings in them. Things like elves and faeries.”
“Neither of which are favorites of mine. They rank above sorcerers but what doesn’t? Dragons are far superior.”
She laughed again. “Somehow that opinion doesn’t surprise me. You’re very dragonish. I can definitely see you sprawled out on a bed of gold.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Her channel spasmed, hard, almost painfully, further dampening her panties as the image of him naked, waiting for her to come to him, flashed through her mind.
He reacted to her comment by moving closer, searing her with his heat. “Dragonish. I like that description. I can see myself taking you on a bed of gold and gems, draping you in jewels and luxuriating in having you beneath me, a dragon with his most treasured possession, his very human mate.”
She could see it too—not just Kirill in a human form, but Kirill in a dragon form, and it was more erotic than she would have thought possible. “I need to concentrate on driving,” she said, retreating, not sure how much more she could take before she melted into a puddle or burned up.
He backed off, settling on his side of the car and seeming content to make the rest of the trip in silence. She wondered, not for the first time, why she was acting so out of character, and shivered thinking about the symbols carved into the frame of the mirror like a spell working. When had she started to believe?
The moment she stepped into Aislinn’s shop and had the impression of entering another world? Or the evening Alexandria had shown her the picture of the heartmate rings and they’d both wished they could find one of them?
A glance at Kirill and her womb fluttered. Belief, hope, it was hard to distinguish between the two. He was a stranger in so many ways. Yet at the same time, she was so comfortable with him that it felt as though she’d always known him. She wanted him like she’d never wanted another man. He stirred fantasies to life and made them seem within her grasp.
Worry replaced desire the closer they got to their destination. Trust your instincts, Aislinn said, and they told Jazzlyn that Caro was in trouble, despite the surge of relief she experienced at seeing her cousin’s car when they pulled to a stop in front of the house matching the address.
“This is it,” she said, nervousness over the possibility of a confrontation making her hesitate.
“Stay here. I will go to the door,” Kirill ordered.
It was enough to spur Jazzlyn into motion. “No,” she said, getting out of the car.
She didn’t expect Caro’s boyfriend to come to the door with a gun. And if she was wrong about Carolyn being in trouble, the worst that would happen would be Caro getting mad.
Kirill’s growl soothed Jazzlyn’s nerves rather than fray them. It was all frustrated male, and accompanied by something that sounded like “by the Great Shared Ancestor”.
She didn’t have time to ask him about the curious curse before his fingers wrapped around her arm in a viselike grip, halting and turning her to face him. “Any trouble and you will go immediately to the car.”
Dark eyes bored into hers. Fierce. Intense. Possessive.
“Agreed,” she said, though she was very aware it hadn’t been a question.
He released her. Reluctantly. Stirring her libido and doing crazy things to her heart.
At the door he let her be the one to ring the bell. It opened a moment later and Jazzlyn wasn’t sure who was more surprised—the man standing there or her when he said, “Hey, you’re Caro’s cousin. Jazzlyn, right?”
“Yes.” She studied him. Jeans, polo shirt. Charismatic. At ease. But still a stranger. “We haven’t met.”
He smiled and offered his hand. “Sorry. You’re right. Caro showed me a picture of the two of you at the beach. I’m Mark.”
Jazzlyn took his hand, introducing
Kirill. The men shook as well. She expected Mark to yell for Caro or invite them in. Instead he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
His gaze shifted to the driveway where Carolyn’s car was sandwiched between a sports car and a motorcycle. His eyebrows drew together in a show of puzzlement. “Did Caro know you were coming by?”
“No.”
Mark’s expression cleared. “That explains it then. She’s out with friends, shopping or something. Girl’s day out. I’m not expecting her to check in for several hours. I’ll have her call you if you want.”
Doubt assailed Jazzlyn. Maybe her instincts were wrong after all.
Mark seemed friendly and unconcerned, normal—not like the guys Caro usually went for though Jazzlyn hadn’t met many of them, only heard about them from Carolyn after the fact. So why did Caro stand her up and pass on Nana’s birthday party?
“Is Caro upset about something? I’ve left at least a dozen messages on her cell phone and haven’t gotten a call back.’
Mark shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong as far as I know. She lost her phone. It went overboard and she hasn’t replaced it yet.” He looked at his watch. “I was just on my way out. Girl’s day for her. Boy’s day out for me. Like I said, what if I have her call you when she checks in? It’ll probably be two or three hours.”
“That’d be great,” Jazzlyn said, accepting there was nothing else to do but leave and wait for the call.
She and Kirill returned to the car. As Jazzlyn pulled away from the curb, Mark straddled the motorcycle. Its engine roared to life. A tight maneuver to turn around in the driveway, a wave, and he was on the road, captured in the rearview mirror heading in the opposite direction.
Jazzlyn sighed, feeling both let down and hopeful. Her emotions were in a confused tangle while a tiny voice in her head reminded her she was closer to finding Caro and making sure her cousin was all right than she had been.
As soon as she was sure about Caro, she could concentrate on making jewelry. Life would back to normal. Or not.
Jazzlyn’s stomach did a little flip-flop as she realized that without making a conscious decision, she was driving toward her apartment, where she and Kirill would be alone in a room with a huge bed in it.
Her palms grew damp against the steering wheel. For all her tough talk about grabbing this opportunity and having no regrets afterward, her courage threatened to desert her.
She could suggest they get something to eat or drink and go to the beach. They could claim a bench or walk. This time of the day there’d still be children there, a major deterrent to forgetting herself—not that she’d ever been bold enough to experiment with sex in public places.
Jazzlyn shivered. With Kirill she could imagine sex just about anywhere. There was something about being the focus of his attention that shattered barriers she’d never intentionally erected in the first place.
He made her feel totally feminine and exquisitely desirable, not awkward and shy and self-conscious. Was it foolish to want to bask in the heat he generated?
She smiled, remembering his saying he could see himself taking her on a bed of gold and gems, luxuriating at having her beneath him like a dragon with its most treasured possession. If she was honest with herself, something she always tried to be, she loved the idea of belonging to a man in the way she thought it would be to belong to him. It was a completely unfeminist thought, but there it was.
The miles passed without her suggesting they wait for the call somewhere other than her apartment. She was afraid to start talking for fear of babbling.
By some miracle she managed to park and lead him to her door without trembling like a nervous virgin on a first date. She even managed to usher him inside without dropping her keys, though as the door closed behind them, she sagged against it, heart beating wildly in her throat.
She tried to see through his eyes—the organized clutter of her workspace, the glitter of stones on almost every surface—but he filled the studio apartment with his presence, dwarfed everything but the bed. The sight of it made heat coil in her belly and spread downward until her cunt lips were flushed and swollen and aching for his kiss.
Kirill made a sound resembling a deep rumbling purr. He turned, trapping her against the door with his body. His scent and heat swirled around her, and it was like being embraced by sensual fire.
“With all your gems, you’re very dragonish yourself,” he teased, rubbing his cheek against hers.
“They’re for my work. I’m a jewelry maker.”
“Perfect,” he said, brushing his lips against hers. “I’m a jewelry collector.”
Of their own accord her hands lifted and settled on his chest, her palms over tiny hardened nipples. His eyes darkened at her touch, and the fast beat of his heart raced in time with hers.
Part of her couldn’t believe she was here with him like this. He was still a stranger to her, despite the mirror and the heartmate stones and the help he’d given her in the hunt for Caro. But the larger part of her refused to listen to logic or be swayed by the dictates of restraint. That part of her wanted to be swept away by passion, whispered convincingly that this was the perfect time, the perfect place, the perfect man.
Her fingertips glanced over the firm points of his nipples and a thrill of feminine pleasure spiked through her as she watched what her touch did to him. Lust blazed in his eyes, hot and fierce and possessive. His body grew harder, the muscles taut, as though it took all his willpower not to push her to the floor and mount her.
Images of being on her hands and knees and having him cover her sent arousal gushing from her slit. A shudder moved through her when man morphed into dragon in her thoughts.
She shook her head to dispel the wayward pictures, felt heat rush to her cheeks in the wake of such a kinky erotic fantasy. Too much talk of dragons, she told herself as Kirill touched his mouth to hers, his tongue piercing the seam of her lips to tangle with hers.
Wicked flames licked over her with each slide of his tongue against hers. Need built, making it impossible to remain still. Her lower body pressed to his, her pelvis rubbing against his hardened penis in a sinuous dance while her fingers plucked and tormented his nipples.
She wanted him. No, it was more than want. It was a need so deep it sprang from her core, as if having him inside her was essential to her survival.
Her lips clung desperately to his. Her tongue yielded to his, promising submission, begging for him to mimic the thrust and retreat with his cock.
Kirill panted. If he didn’t have her soon he would come in his jeans. She was killing him, turning his own fire against him until he barely had any control.
Jazzlyn was perfect for him. If he’d needed confirmation of it, if there’d been any lingering doubts that she was the right mate for him, then stepping into her apartment and seeing her collection of stones would have answered them. She could spend several lifetimes creating jewelry with the gems in his lair. She would be content there, happy and safe—as he meant her to be. And if she insisted, he’d even allow some of the lesser pieces to leave his possession and be sold or given to others.
Kirill closed his eyes and savored the feel of her against him, the scent of her. Now that he had her alone, he fought against a quick mounting. It would be over too soon if he entered her now.
“Mine,” he said against her lips, finally allowing her a breath that wasn’t his.
She trembled against him but didn’t deny his claim. Soon he’d mark her with his smell and his bite, later, with the rake of his mating talons across her belly or back. And when they crossed into his realm, she would wear a dragon like the one on his human flesh.
He took her mouth again, this time caressing and exploring her with his hands. Satisfaction purring through him as he swallowed the small sounds of pleasure she made.
She was soft and feminine, lushly formed. His. And he wanted to see her, to gaze at her without the barrier of clothing between them. That’s the way he’d keep her when they returned to h
is lair, naked save for the gems adorning her.
His cock pulsed. Arousal coated its tip, leaking now in a lava-hot warning that after centuries of waiting, there was a limit to the torment he could endure.
With a growl he forced himself away from her. He felt the loss of her touch immediately and would have vented with a roar and fiery exhalation if he could have. Instead frustrated heat condensed into a single, scorching command. “Disrobe.”
Her eyes flashed, but it wasn’t defiance he read in them, it was erotic fear. To defend himself against her effect on him, his hand curled around his cloth-covered erection, and the action was nearly his undoing.
Her gaze followed. Her tongue peeked out for an instant, bringing with it a rush of fantasies.
