Enchanted By Fire (Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society Book 3)

by Meg Ripley

  Maybe it was a fluke, she thought; the result of a surge of adrenaline. She stood up, looking for something on which to test her theory. She kicked out at the wall in front of her, and her shoe-covered foot went right through it as if it were paper. But did that mean anything?

  She moved to the sofa and tried giving it one-handed shove. It slid several feet and slammed into the end table next to it, sending the damaged lamp crashing to the floor. That seemed a bit more than the average person could do, didn’t it?

  She ran to her bedroom, thinking of the heavy wooden bed frame, and she bent down to lift it up from one corner. She raised it up to her waist, barely engaging any of her muscles. Okay, that’s definitely not normal, she acknowledged.

  Moving throughout the apartment, she looked for one test after another, but there was nothing she couldn’t lift or break with one hand, and all the while, it felt like she couldn’t quite tap into the source of it, a source that would have made her infinitely stronger.

  The wall that separated the living room from the kitchen! Certainly, she couldn’t break that—it was a solid wood structure, she’d been told. But she punched, and her hand went right through it.

  She pulled her fist back, inspecting the bloodied scrapes on her knuckles, as if they could somehow explain what was going on. But as she watched, the scrapes and the long, thin gash grew smaller. And smaller. No more drops of blood welled up from the broken skin. Smaller still, and then they healed up completely right in front of her eyes. Only the specks of dried blood on her smooth flesh belied the fact there had ever been an injury there.

  How was that possible? Her head swirled with yet another baffling discovery.

  It was a bad dream. It had to be. That was the only rational conclusion. No human could fight like she had, and it wasn’t possible to heal miraculously from injuries. But if she was trapped in some bizarre nightmare, why couldn’t she wake up?

  Chapter 8

  Grant drove away, making a left at the first intersection, and then another left…and another. And one more. He listened and he watched as he drove in idle circles, waiting for any sign of the dragon who’d attacked her. He would return for her; it was only a matter of time. Whoever he was, the dragon had gone to an awful lot of trouble trying to acquire her.

  He drove past her apartment again and again, but it was as if a heavy band connected them and it was drawn taut the further he drove.

  Eventually, he gave in. Wise or not, he didn’t want to fight it. And so, he pulled into an empty space a few yards from her building, trying—and failing—yet again to figure out what Freya Cullen really was.

  It was possible she was playing him for a fool, but he was damn good at recognizing a lie when he heard one, and everything about her gave him the impression she really didn’t know. The way she’d clutched the seat on the highway as if a car crash could actually kill her—she genuinely seemed to think she was human. How the hell that was possible, he didn’t know, but there it was.

  And that also meant she had no idea why those men had been after her, nor did she realize the dragon wasn’t going to give up so easily. Whatever she was, the dragon wanted her badly—and he wanted her alive, which in his experience, was worse than being wanted dead.

  He slammed his head against the back of the seat, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. When he’d swooped in to help her, they’d recognized him, and when he’d flown her back to his home instead of pursuing the dragon, he’d known it wouldn’t be long before they were after him, too.

  What he didn’t know was why the hell he’d done it. In his three millennia, he had seen countless atrocities; it shouldn’t have fazed him in the slightest. But seeing her lying there, battered and bruised—the woman who’d been warm and alive in his arms the night before—it affected him more than he could have imagined possible.

  And whatever her allure was, it was even more powerful than it had been the first moment he’d seen her. Relenting, he slid out of the car and crossed the few yards to her building, ran up the four flights of stairs to her apartment and knocked on the door.

  She opened it a moment later and a surge of arousal jolted through him from the sight of her. She hovered at the door without saying a word, seemingly trying to decide whether to let him in. Finally, she stepped back and motioned for him to enter.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, pacing. She looked adorable—the kind of adorable that was hot as hell. Her long, dark hair was pulled up at the crown of her head, and her agitation had stained her cheeks a rosy pink against her otherwise milky white skin.

  “What is it you don’t understand?” he asked, figuring it was safer than guessing at the answer.

  “I broke that,” she said, pointing to the coffee table that had been splintered down the center.

  He nodded, somewhat perplexed over what it was she was trying to tell him.

  “And I broke that, too…” she said, pointing to the small end table that looked like it had also been split in half. “I broke it with my fucking finger!” she exclaimed, holding up the slim digit on her right hand. “And look,” she said, holding up her right hand. “I hit the wall with this hand—a solid wood wall—and not only did it go right through, but the cuts and scratches it left disappeared right in front of me!”

  If there’d been any doubt remaining whether she’d been putting on an act, it fled. She genuinely had no idea.

  “Why don’t you look the least bit surprised?” she asked, dropping her hand to her side. “It’s because you’re just like me, right?” she persisted when he didn’t answer.

  While it had been fairly well-established in his mind that she was anything but an ordinary human, he wasn’t certain how much to reveal. She wasn’t a dragon, and he’d already ruled out witch, Venefica Eis, púca, lycanthrope and siren. But how much could he tell her when he didn’t know what she was? And why he needed to tell her at all still baffled him. How could she not know?

  What was worse than the questions that swirled in his head was the heady scent of her that wafted across the short distance between them, and the way her teeth worried her tantalizingly plush bottom lip. His gaze was drawn downward as the accelerated inhale and exhale of her breathing pushed her breasts against the thin fabric of the shirt she wore.

  He didn’t want to think about what she was. He didn’t want to think at all. He wanted her, right then and right there. Desire ran rampant in his veins, surging inward to the heated core and drawing the fire there outward. He breathed, trying to call up a calm that felt a thousand miles away, while trying not to focus on the scent of her that filled his nostrils as he inhaled.

  “You can do it too, right?” she persisted, though by the way her pupils had begun to dilate and the pulse in her neck beat faster, he knew she was suddenly as aware of him as he was of her.

  “Yes, Freya, I can,” he confessed, resisting the urge to pull her close and show her what else he could do.

  “But how? I don’t understand,” she said, meeting his eyes as her heartbeat sped up even more.

  “I don’t know how you can do…what you do,” he admitted.

  “But then, how can you?” She took a step forward as she spoke, though he wasn’t sure if she was even aware that she’d done it.

  “All I can tell you is it’s different. We’re not the same.”

  “Then what are you? What am I?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and he wondered wildly how this had happened. She was standing just inches away, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

  She looked more confused than when she’d opened the door, but her scent was driving him crazy. It had increased in intensity every second, and he knew why; she was aroused, and it seemed her awareness of him grew by the minute despite the chaos in her head.

  “I don’t know what I am, Grant,” she admitted, “And I’m incredibly confused about a lot of things. But there’s one thing that doesn’t confuse me,” she said, and the look in her eyes conveyed e
xactly what she meant.

  He couldn’t have walked away if his life depended on it. He reached for her, and pulled her hard against him. He captured her lips roughly—he couldn’t help it. But the moment he felt her soft frame mold to his body, the fire in his core grew hotter. It wanted out, but there was no way in hell he could let that happen.

  He pulled away, trying to put an end to it, but she followed him, lunging upward for his lips at the same time her arms wrapped around him, her fingers twining in the hair at the back of his neck.

  God damn it, this was a bad idea. But a low growl rose in his throat and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her against him once more. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anything in his life. He wanted to taste every inch of her; to lay her down and watch his fingers disappear inside her as she moaned out. And the thought of her lips wrapped around his rock-hard length had him fighting against the urge to lower her to the ground in front of him.

  Her breasts were pressed against his chest, and he could feel her hard nipples through her top. He needed her naked, every part of her exposed and his for the taking.

  He pushed her away, harder than he’d intended, and she bumped back against the wall, but it didn’t seem to faze her. He cringed, knowing he was in trouble, but unable to stop himself as he grabbed hold of her shirt and tore it down the center. She gasped at the unexpected move, but then yanked the ripped fabric off her arms, and it fell to the floor at her feet.

  His desire to see her bare was so overwhelming that he didn’t have time to play with the clasp on her bra; he pulled at the fabric gathered between her breasts, and her breasts sprung free as the bra gave way. His hands were there before the bra hit the floor, cupping her mounds in his hands and kneading the firm flesh while he rolled her hard nipples back and forth between his fingers.

  She reached between them and grabbed hold of the hem of his shirt. Not thinking, he let her yank it off over his head, but the second her hands returned, he realized his mistake. Her slim fingers grazed across his chest, and the fire grew hotter, blazing outward too far. Her nails scraped deliberately across his nipples and he shook with his restraint.

  It was too much; trying to control the fire escaping his core while attempting to keep himself from bending her over and fucking her like an animal. All the while, her touch drove him wild, and the scent of her arousal was threatening to send him into a mindless frenzy.

  He grabbed for her wrists and yanked them high above her head. But the action pressed her breasts out further, making his mouth water, and he swooped down to suck a nipple into his mouth.

  She cried out and he cursed himself, unable to let her go completely but trying to ease off. But as he reduced the suction he was applying to her nipple, she struggled hard and freed her wrists from his grasp to grab hold of the back of his head and press him more firmly against her.

  A lightning bolt of desire shot through him so violently that he felt it jolt his entire body. He sucked harder as he tried to ignore her hands as they began to move lower, and the way his cock was pressing painfully against the fly of his pants. All of a sudden, the pain vanished as he felt the cool air of the apartment on his engorged cock, and he realized she’d unzipped his fly while he’d been trying not to pay attention.

  She reached out to touch him, and he jerked away. God no, if she touched him, if he felt her fingers encircle his throbbing shaft…

  “Freya, you can’t…” He didn’t know how to tell her that if she so much as touched him, he wasn’t going to be able to keep from fucking her senseless. He ripped off the skirt she was wearing and groaned when he saw she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. She was perfectly smooth, and her wetness glistened on her thighs, and when he touched her, shoving two fingers into her wetness, he reveled in the feel of her—as soft as silk. She grabbed onto his shoulders as he fucked her with his fingers, and the quiet moans escaping her lips drove him closer to losing his grip.

  She reached for him without warning, her hand wrapped around his cock before he could stop her, and the fire blazed further. He could feel it in his extremities. He couldn’t wait another second. He needed to fuck her.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled it away, pinning it against the wall while he hoisted her off the ground with one arm. He lowered her onto his cock in one swift motion, filling her, stretching her. God damn it, she was so tight around him that he had to fight back the urge to come right then. But he held on and lifted her up until only the tip of him remained inside her and then lowered her back down, trying to keep himself in check, to give her time to adjust to the size of him inside her.

  He knew she was ready when she started to move against him. Her legs wrapped around his hips, holding him there tightly, and her back was pressed against the wall for leverage, which also afforded him an incredible view of her breasts.

  He gripped her hips, guiding her up and down while her hands latched onto his shoulders. She lunged for his lips once more; this time, her kiss was frantic. She nibbled and sucked on his lower lip, and he returned the gentle assault.

  Her moans grew louder as he continued to increase his pace, and it wasn’t long before her moans turned to cries. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and his pace grew frantic. He was so close, but he could tell she was almost there. He fucked her harder…faster…he filled every inch of her over and over again until finally she surged forward, digging her teeth into his shoulder while she bucked wildly against him.

  Her velvety walls spasmed around his length, and it was just too much. He’d held on longer than he’d thought possible, but with one last thrust in to the hilt, he emptied his seed deep inside her.

  Chapter 9

  He laid on the floor, tracing idle circles across Freya’s naked back. He needed to stop; it had only been minutes since the most intense orgasm of his life, and yet feeling her against him, touching her soft skin, he wanted her again already.

  But he couldn’t. Their coming together had left bruises all over her body, and guilt ran almost as hot in his veins as desire. He’d suffered his own fair share of injuries; her nails had left deep scratches down his back, her teeth had broken through the flesh of his shoulders, and she’d wrapped her legs so tightly around him, his hips were no doubt bruised to the bone. But his injuries would fade quickly, and he didn’t regret a single one of them.

  Damn it! he cursed silently, sliding out from underneath where her head laid on his chest, surging to his feet. “Freya, I’m sorry,” he started, looking down at her and watching as the last of the bruises he’d left on her arms faded away to nothing. He’d known she would heal quickly after watching the speed with which her wounds had recovered last night, but it was still strange to see. He wasn’t accustomed to other beings with abilities that were in some ways similar to his own.

  “Why are you sorry, Grant?” she asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

  But before he could answer, every muscle in his body tensed. He could sense him: the dragon. He was nearby, no more than a mile away, and coming closer every second. There were others with him, but he could tell no more, not like this. He’d know more if he could shift, but he couldn’t do that in the middle of her apartment, even if he wasn’t concerned about her finding out more about him than she already knew.

  “Get dressed, Freya,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended, and she stared up at him, baffled and stung by his words.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  “Look, if you think I’m the kind of woman you can boss around, think again, Grant.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” he remarked wryly, looking down at the scrapes, bruises and bite marks on his own body that were healing quickly, but not as quickly as hers. “The men from the other night, Freya. I can protect you, but I don’t know what they want with you, so unless you know something you aren’t telling me, then it’s best to stay clear of them until we know more.”

  “Oh, okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said, apparently satisfied with his an
swer, throwing on her clothes and darting off to the next room. She returned with her cat in her arms seconds later, and something else in her hand.

  The medallion.

  She still had it…but how?

  “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse off the table, already starting toward the door. She held the ancient pendant in her hand, not even trying to hide it from him. She really had no clue!

  They hurried out the apartment’s door and down the steps to the main lobby. She was calm; too calm. Any other woman in her position—finding out the same man who’d nearly killed her was on his way—would be surging with panic. But her heartbeat was steady, her breathing hadn’t sped up. Did she not understand the danger of the situation? That seemed unlikely, given the intelligence she’d exhibited thus far.

  So, did she not experience fear the way other humans did, or had she just learned to master her fear response? It was an interesting question—and either answer was an intriguing one—but also a question he didn’t have time to analyze at the moment. He’d be sure to return to it later, though. The woman was downright fascinating.

  Out the front door, he looked up and down the street, but they were still half a mile away.

  “My car’s just a few yards up there,” he said, motioning to the left and urging her forward from behind.

  Inside the car, she placed the cat on the back seat, but the animal remained perched at the edge of it, seeming to glare at him intently—a conundrum he’d have to investigate later. There was something odd about that cat, who he was beginning to suspect wasn’t an ordinary cat at all.