I couldn’t harm him. Paxon. That fucker. He seduced anything with a decent pair of legs he could spread and slide into. And he wanted her, my black-haired siren. I was going to break him in half.
No! I couldn’t. Couldn’t even touch him. He was my uncle’s only son. He was family. But he had his hands and mouth on her. If he didn’t move away soon, my dragon would tell me to fuck off and take over.
How did she do this to me? Turn me into a maddened beast. How!
I knew how, but refused to face the fact. Never had a woman clawed her way into my very soul with one touch, one kiss. My beast recognized her as his, wanted her now, yesterday, tomorrow. And always. Yes, the dragon knew, but the man refused to accept it. Like I had any choice.
Fate gave her to me. A human. The daughter of the enemy.
A luscious human. Soft curves, creamy skin, burnished eyes, ebony hair—everything about her awakened my senses, made me want to drive into her, sate the raging hunger, and keep her far from any other man. I needed to mark her as mine. There was only one way of doing that. And there was no coming back from it.
No…I had to let her go. It would never work.
She was drunk. Really drunk. She tilted her head back and laughed. Would she push away now? My vision shifted, becoming more acute as my predator senses took over, narrowing in on its prey. My dragon crouched and watched through slit eyes. Paxon pulled her body into his again, pushing her back into an alcove. For one reason and one reason only.
Motherfucker!
My dragon snapped his chains. I dove over the railing.
Eyes sharpened in the dark alcove. He squeezed her ass with one hand, the other hiked up her skirt, his tongue in her mouth. I was going to smash his skull into the cavern wall until I heard bones crunch and smelled blood.
Pull back.
I knocked him clear across the alcove, barely harnessing the need for blood, putting my body between them.
“Paxon.” The lethal edge of my voice cut the air. “She is not for you.”
Pax wasn’t stupid. He recognized my beast was nudging a paper-thin line, ready to claw him in half should he dare to stand against me. Fortunately, his lust for her wasn’t as great as my need to kill him. He glanced from me to her, recognizing the danger he was in. Recognizing the sheer veneer holding back the beast within. A low growl rumbled from my chest. Paxon raised his brow and gave me a tight nod, understanding dawning on his face. He edged around me to exit the alcove. My beast watched with caged fury, still wanting to maim him for good measure.
When he was gone, Jessen let out a huff and tilted her defiant chin at me, fuming with anger. Damn if I didn’t want to take her right here. Right now.
“What the hell was that all about? What gives you the right to interfere?”
Yeah, she was pissed. I didn’t give a fuck. “You’re drunk.” I forced away the image of Paxon’s hands and mouth on her body before I lost all control.
“So what. I can be drunk if I want to.” She blew out a frustrated breath, lifting the hair half-fallen across her face. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She was beyond wasted. “You’re not aware of what you’re doing.”
She flipped those silky, black waves over her shoulder, luring me with her scent. I clenched my fists to keep from touching her.
“What? That I was going to get laid tonight by Paxon? No, I was pretty aware of that. But it won’t happen now.”
The image of Paxon on top of her, inside of her, nearly made the dragon rip out of my chest. Hell, was this the kind of rage Lorian kept hidden inside so well? I wished I had a fighting pit where I could beat and pummel out my frustrations. A few fists to the face just might calm me the fuck down. Clamping my jaw till something popped, I held her furious glare until I could let her know exactly how I felt without roaring like a manic.
“No. It will never happen now.” It will never happen period. With any other man. Ever! Get that into your pretty, fucking skull.
I had to have her. Soon. I was splitting in two. The beast demanded succor—the man denied the need. Fuck! She was torturing me, killing me, invading my senses with the promise of something sweet and sensual. The promise of yielding soft flesh under my hard body, melting into me until we were one, until she was mine.
My brain a fog, I barely registered what she said, my wayward thoughts somewhere else entirely.
“What gives you the right to decide anything for me? Are you afraid your precious Nightwing family will be contaminated by touching a human woman? Well, fuck you!”
She stormed off. I froze at her words. She thought I was angry because I was a bigot? I’d love to tell her, show her what I felt right this second. Her pretty mouth would shut up at once because it would be better occupied.
I followed her to the parking lot. She could barely stand up as she pulled out her keys. I snatched them from her.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Give me my keys, Lucius.”
“You’re not driving while intoxicated.” Did she truly believe I would let her out of my sight in such a condition? Anything could happen to her. My mind reeled at the thought of one scratch on her porcelain skin.
“Oh, so now you’re my daddy?” Bitterness pierced the veneer. She wasn’t just angry; she was hurt. “You’re going to make all my decisions for me?”
Her tone spoke of pain and betrayal. Her rage stemmed from more than this—her father. I didn’t mind being the target to release her anger. As long as I could keep her safe, she could say or do whatever she wanted.
“I’m head of security. I cannot let an intoxicated woman drive away, knowing she’ll probably kill herself, if not someone else, on the way home.”
“Men. You think you’re so fucking superior. You decide what a woman needs, no matter what’s in her heart.” Hot tears poured down her face, twisting my gut, transforming my own fury into concern for her. I remained motionless, waiting for her to spend her anger; then her question staked me in the heart. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Nightwing. Have you thought about me even once since we first met? Just once?”
Once? Once! Was she fucking kidding me? I wanted to scream. Daily. Hourly. Every second of every fucking day she saturated my thoughts. Driving me out of my mind! My beast already knew she was his, the man needed to yield and tell her. Show her.
Just once? She was insane. How could I not think of her? She was my mate. Until I marked her with soulfire, there would be no peace, no restful sleep, no waking hour where the clawing need didn’t nearly drive me mad. Right now, all I could think about is wiping away the pain etched into her beautiful face.
I shoved her keys in my pocket. “What happened?”
Crossing her arms, she looked away, a streetlight highlighting the vulnerability in her eyes.
“Tell me,” I added softly, inching closer and itching to touch her, to soothe her. “Please.”
She swallowed hard, and though her gaze was glassy with the alcohol filtering through her system, she appeared strangely focused.
“Do you ever wonder where you came from?” Unsure what she meant, I was about to ask her to clarify when she went on. “I mean, like you look around at those closest to you, at your family and truly wonder, how the hell did I come from this?”
I recalled the days of Lorian shutting off the world, specifically me, to beat other men into the ground and to get beaten in return—not just for sport, but as an escape from reality. I’d been furious with him back then, shunning all responsibility and dumping it on me. Like I didn’t have my own pain and anger to sort out when Mom had died.
“Of course, I have,” I finally answered.
She sucked in a sharp breath as if she couldn’t believe I’d answered. And that I’d agreed with her.
“Really?” she asked, disbelieving.
I eased a fraction closer, needing her nearness. “When my mother died, I mourned for more than one reason. I’d not only lost her, but the fact that
she’d died and left my father still alive marked our family with shame.”
The maelstrom of emotions that had tightened her expression now softened, her head tilting in sympathetic curiosity.
“What shame?”
I trailed my fingertips from her outer arm down to her delicate wrist before taking her hand gently in mine.
“Do you remember the story I told you at my home? About how soulfire cannot be forced on a woman. That she must accept him for the bond to take place?”
She nodded, allowing me to take her hand and press it between both of mine. This simple contact was a sweet balm to the constant flames burning inside me. My beast purred and curled up in exhausted relief. She waited patiently, so I went on.
“My mother didn’t accept soulfire from my father.” She winced as if the truth had stung her. It had done more than that to me. It had crushed me and pushed my brother away. “This wasn’t truly apparent until my father survived her death.”
“How do you mean?” Before I could explain, she gasped as she apparently remembered. “When Radomis died, Morga died as well.”
I nodded, pulling her closer, her hand still my captive.
“My mother used to tell me that story,” she said with a sad smile. “Of course, her version was different as you remember. But at least she got that part right.”
Her dark hair framed her lovely pale face, the sad story and dim streetlight casting her in a soft halo.
“My father was devastated, of course. The reality of her rejection crushing him a second time. My brother Lorian”—I scoffed, glancing toward the night sky—“well, he was pissed at the world. He took off for Drakos for a while.” No need to give her those sordid details. “And I was left behind to keep the family business in control. To try and keep my father from falling into an abyss of depression.”
“Alone?” she asked gently.
Shrugging, “Someone had to.”
I tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She let me, though it was obvious she noticed the small affection, her gaze following the movement, her brow pinching together.
“I was angry then. Very angry,” I said on a half-laugh without humor. “And I wondered how I’d ended up in such a family. What I’d done to bear the burden of it all.”
“But your father came around?”
“Of course.” I brushed my thumb over her knuckles, her hand still held in my own. “And eventually, so did my brother.”
“Why did your mother not accept him?”
Jaw clenching, I answered, “Because she’d loved another more than my father before their marriage. And she refused to let that love go from her heart.”
She frowned, pulling her hand from mine and staring off into the distance. “Your father sounds far better than mine.” She wrapped her arms around herself, stepping away from me. “I need to get home.” She swayed, off-balance from drunkenness.
“I’ll take you,” I offered instantly.
“No, Lucius. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice lilted with sadness, tears welling once again. “You obviously don’t feel for me the way I do for you.” She swallowed hard, my pulse quickening at her drunken admission. “And I’d just rather not—”
Oh, hell. Enough.
I hauled her into my arms and flew up into the night with a great beat of wings, rocketing high and fast. As soon as I cradled her close, a sensation of serenity poured through my veins. Yes. I could deny it till doomsday, but there would be no peace, not until she was truly mine.
Rather than scream or protest or curse me for my domineering action, she nuzzled my neck, her lips brushing my skin. Desire, hot and instant, flared bright.
“Jessen.” I warned her to stop and wanted the opposite. The beast could only stand so much temptation. But she was drunk, even if our brief conversation had sobered her a little. I’d never take her like this. She didn’t know what she was doing.
Her whispered words shattered me. “Why do you haunt my dreams?” Soft lips pressed to my skin. “Why won’t you let go of me? Let me be?” Unbelievable. She only let herself say these things because of the alcohol. In the light of day with a clear mind, she’d never admit the truth.
Our hearts and bodies knew the inevitable end. Fate decreed it so. Our brains kept us apart, kept us playing this game of denial, convincing us we were in control, when we never were. She mirrored my own feelings when she mumbled against me, “My heart is breaking.”
I knew where her villa was. Not only had I seen it the first night, but I’d found myself flying far overhead the college campus more than once in the last three months. Feeling helpless, I’d needed to catch a glimpse of her to keep my beast caged.
Opening her balcony door with the keys, I placed her on the bed, removed her boots, and tucked her under the covers. She curled on her side, tears streaking her face.
“Sleep,” I commanded, touching the silken strands of black hair against the white pillow.
What I wouldn’t do to have her in my bed—to protect, possess, treasure. Forever.
The look of heartbreak on her face, eyes closed, made my gut clench in pain. I soothed her, soothed myself, combing fingers through her hair. The lines creasing her face slowly disappeared. When I thought she had finally drifted into sleep, her full lips pursed and whispered my name. “Lucius.”
My chest constricted. Never had my name sounded like a plea, a prayer, and a benediction all at once in such a mournful tone. With this one confession on sleepy lips, her subconscious gave me the answer I needed. I could deny this no longer. My own stubborn stupidity had driven her into the arms of my own cousin tonight. I didn’t blame her. I blamed and cursed myself.
Interesting that she’d chosen a man who looked very much like me to lose herself with. It had strangely given me hope that she’d not forgotten me. And when she’d whispered those sweet words against my skin, I’d nearly told her the truth right then and there.
I might be an obstinate ass, but I wasn’t a fucking idiot. I’d not let it happen again.
When she slept, I locked up and left, winging high above the clouds toward my home. Feeling the heavens press down, I made a decision. I must tell her who she was to me, who I was to her, whether she wanted to hear the truth or not. It had to be soon.
Chapter 7
“Thank you. Come again.”
My hangover finally subsiding, I could actually force myself to smile. I took the two plastic-wrapped dresses and steered Moira out the door.
“Here, I’ll hold them, Jessen. You still look pale.”
“Thanks, Muffin. Happy?”
“Yes!” She beamed, automatically lightening my sour mood. “My dress is beautiful. And yours is, too.”
Having Father’s credit card encouraged me to buy the two most expensive gowns I could find and outrageously pricey shoes to match. Petty revenge, but I was not above getting what little satisfaction I could. Rather than retail therapy, I was getting retail revenge. Sorcha would be proud.
“You deserve it.” I linked my arm with hers as we walked along the storefronts. “We’d better head on to the café. Sorcha and Ella will be there for lunch by now.”
“Thank goodness. I’m starving.”
Nudging her with my elbow, I smiled. “Where do you put it all? I swear, you eat like a horse and are still a beanpole.”
“I’m also taller than you,” she teased.
Studying her height, I realized she was right. “Hey. When the hell did that happen?”
I steered her around the block toward Danny’s Deli, which was our favorite lunch spot. Sorcha, Ella, and I had found it our freshman year after a night out and realized quickly that nothing killed a hangover like Danny’s cheeseburger and hashbrowns. I needed that Danny’s miracle cure pretty bad right now.
My thoughts drifted to Lucius—again—and how he’d taken care of me last night. His soft affection was more painful than his initial rejection the night we’d met. I wondered if I’d hear from him after my drunken displa
y in the club, the subsequent tirade in the parking lot, and then—God, someone save me from the humiliation—my ridiculous confession and kissing of his neck when he carried me home. Heat flushed my cheeks. I’d never be able to look at him again. I swear, if I did bump into him, I’d just nonchalantly walk away. That’s it. Just pretend that last night was all some sad intoxication-induced drama. I rolled my eyes at the memory of what I’d said, telling him he haunted my dreams. The mortification of it was enough to make me want to crawl in a deep hole and never come out. But as long as I stayed away from the Morgon clubs, at least for a while, I’d not bump into him. At least, I hoped not.
Passing an accessory shop, I noticed a Morgon woman adjusting handbags in the display window. She glanced at us and smiled before resuming her work.
“Interesting, isn’t it.”
“What is, Moira?”
“Morgons working in human retail stores. My teacher said we’re in a progressive age where humans and Morgons must learn to work alongside each other.”
“She did, did she?”
“Mm-hmm. She says it’s better to be more tolerant, and then both species will flourish together.”
“Smart teacher.”
“Yep. She is.”
I could hear the admiration in Moira’s voice. For a fifteen-year-old, sheltered under the watchful eye of our father, she was wildly bright and perceptive. She was what some called an old soul. I loved her even more for it.
Her brow pushed together into a frown. “There are some kids who don’t agree with her.”
“Hmph. I’m sure there are.” I slid her a knowing glance, whispering conspiratorially, “But I think she’s right.”
Moira giggled, still one of the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard. “I do, too,” she whispered back.
I opened the door for her to Danny’s, the lunch crowd buzzing.
“Jessen!” Sorcha waved from a corner booth where Ella sipped on a lemonade.
We bustled over, shoving our shopping bags and hanging dresses in the corner.
“Hello, beautiful,” said Sorcha, pecking Moira on the cheek. “Did you spend a ton of Daddy’s money?”
Soulfire: A Dragon Fantasy Romance (Nightwing Book 1) Page 6
