by S. A. Ravel
"What happened out there?" she asked.
He shrugged and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I put some things away, I guess."
"Have you, Dragon of the Mountain?" Ramon asked. "Are you ready to take your place in our tribe?"
"I am." The response was meant for the Chief, but Ronin never took his eyes off Sanaa.
Bastian limped forward and placed a hand on Ronin's shoulder. "Name your imprint."
"Dragon."
Sanaa figured word would have spread that the Dragon in the Mountain was the man who knocked her up, but a few people gasped in surprise as Ronin named his animal. Apparently, the rumor mill in town was a little slow these days.
"Then take your place among us, Brother Dragon," Bastian said. "You and yours are welcome here."
Omar stepped forward and clapped Ronin on the back like they were old drinking buddies. "May your days be long, and your enemies be few."
Ronin rolled his eyes. "Not fucking likely."
There had never been a dragon imprint in the Bloodbone tribe. For all they knew, there had never been a dragon skinwalker before. Only the baby in Sanaa's arms, and the man who stood at her side.
"So, when do we start planning the wedding?" Janna asked. Elena and Sanaa shot her a pair of withering looks. Janna, who had never married, dubbed herself the wedding planner of the tribe. It was just like her to get excited about a wedding, forgetting the impending murder.
Thankfully, Ronin was busy discussing the damage Niabe's attack had done to the village with Ramon and offering to help with repairs. There was that bright side, at least. The Bloodbones pooled their resources whenever possible, but there was never much money for anything but the basics, which didn't include a raging dark walker attack.
Traditionally, the newly inducted member's family threw a feast to mark their entrance into adulthood. But Ronin wasn't a child, and the attack spoiled any sense of celebration Sanaa might have had. She was more than happy to go along when Ronin ushered her toward Kane's truck.
Sanaa left the men in the living room to talk, while she got herself and the baby ready for bed. A bath for both of them was in order, and the little one needed a trip to the milk bar. They had only been in the village for a few hours–half a day at the most–but it felt good to be back home in the mountains.
Sanaa paused in the middle of slipping a clean onesie on the baby. When had she started to think of Ronin's house as her home? It was the truth, or close enough to pass muster. The Dragon made it clear that he wanted Sanaa and his daughter under his protection at all times. Unless he was willing to trade his fancy digs for an earthen house in the desert, that meant Sanaa was now a permanent resident in Casa de Firebreather.
There were worse places to spend a life, and worse men to spend it with.
Right on cue, Ronin stalked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. The terrycloth towel around his hips brushed against Sanaa's bare legs as he pressed close against her, but his touch was gentle.
"How is she?" he whispered.
Sanaa shivered as his breath blew past her ear. Every time Ronin's fingers touched her skin her sex throbbed of its own accord. He could have stripped her and bent her over the bed right there, and her only objection would have been possibly crushing their infant.
"She doesn't seem to know what's happening. Then again she doesn't even know where her nose is...."
He chuckled and clicked his tongue gently. "She's the child of a dragon and a thunderbird. There's no need for her to fear anything."
Sanaa wished that were true. She wished that the world was safe for her daughter to grow and thrive the way it had never been for her. That she could give the girl the happy family life she deserved. But bloody desires and wounded pride had screwed that up beyond repair.
Still, it was one of the few nice, quiet moments since Niabe's first attack, and Sanaa didn't think there was any harm in enjoying it for a few seconds more.
"When will we name her?" he asked
Sanaa shrugged. "I should have had the ceremony a few weeks ago, but the Elders wouldn't allow it. I don't know if you noticed, but we're big on tradition."
"No, I hadn't spotted that at all. Just like I didn't hear the Seer ask when she can start planning our wedding."
Damn. Sanaa smiled and wiggled out of his hands. "Damned, old woman. Don't pay any attention to her, she's always butting her nose in where it doesn't belong." And when everything was over, Sanaa was going to have a nice, long reality check with Janna.
She padded into the kitchen and tugged open the refrigerator. Maybe the cool air would calm her the fuck down. But Ronin followed her.
"She has a point; our girl deserves two parents...and a name."
Sanaa snagged lunch meat, lettuce and mustard from the fridge and kicked it shut. "She's got two parents unless you've changed your mind."
"Then you deserve stability." Ronin grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter and tossed it to her.
"Are you kicking me out when this is over?" Even as she asked the question Sanaa knew the answer.
Suddenly, he was there behind her, chest pressed against her back, hand resting on her hip. "Why do you keep avoiding talking about our future?"
Sanaa focused on spreading the mustard over the bread, piling the slices of meat on top, selecting the leaves of green lettuce with just the right amount of crispness. Anything not to think about Ronin's breath against her neck, or how much she wanted to turn around and reach for his lips again.
"Because we don't have a future. Don't get me wrong, you playing Prince Charming is nice and all, but this isn't what either of us signed up for."
Ronin grabbed her by the arm, taking just enough care not to hurt her as he whirled her around. His eyes blazed red and his nostrils flared as he studied Sanaa's face. For a moment, Sanaa was sure she had gone too far.
"Shit. I didn't mean to–"
Sanaa's words melted into a low moan as Ronin leaned forward and claimed her lips.
Ronin’s blood burned as he sucked Sanaa’s plump lips. It was more than passion that set him ablaze. Sanaa’s words echoed in his ears. The challenge to his commitment was more than his dragon could stand. The heat of his kiss burned away her doubts. A whimper of surprise was all she could manage.
"Don't ever say that to me again." He gently nipped at the flesh of her neck.
His hands snaked beneath her tank top, fingers caressed her back, pushing the flimsy fabric away to reveal her supple, russet skin. Every fiber of his being burned for her already, just from the searing kiss, the simple touch. No. No, he had burned for much longer than that. Some instinct in him warned him away, but the Heat made everything else fade into the distance.
Ronin caught one of Sanaa’s nipples between his fingers, massing the firm peak. “You’re not weak, Woman. And you sure as hell aren’t disposable. Not to me.”
Sanaa moaned in response, a delicious note that sent a shiver of need through Ronin from the base of his spine to the tip of his rock-hard cock. He wrapped his arms around her, fitting the curve of her thighs around his hip. His towel slipped from his hips and fluttered to the floor. The scent from her spread legs wafted to his nostrils. It took everything he had not to slide into her right then. A grin spread over his lips as he reached between her thighs, gliding his fingers along the moisture he found there.
“N-not weak,” she whispered between gasps. “I didn’t say that.”
He furrowed his brow as he slid a single finger inside of her. One hand moved to cradle her throat. She wanted to protest more, he could see that plainly by the fire in her eyes. His Sanaa, always ready to fight, even when she knew she couldn’t win. Still she turned her gaze to him, eyes defiant even as her body writhed under his attention.
“Do you really think I’d let you stay here if I thought so little of you?” Ronin didn’t expect an answer, not when his fingers stroked and caressed her, bringing forth a chorus of moans as she approached the edge of orgasm. His poor Sanaa, h
er body was so neglected, so unfamiliar with his touch, that even gentle petting brought her close to ecstasy. That was a problem Ronin could manage. Happily so.
He lifted her onto the counter and moved to his knees before her, letting her sweet scent tease him. A taste of her appeared on his tongue, a faint memory from their first night together. Ronin leaned forward, dragging his tongue along her slick folds. She was just as moist. Just as sweet as she had been their first night. Their only night. Sanaa’s body jerked under his hands as the first waves of climax tore through her body. Her sweet nectar flowed over his tongue.
The taste of her on his lips. The feel of her skin under his fingers. His rock-hard member straining in the chill air. Her content moans and sighs, lingering in the silence of the kitchen. All of it hammered home one fact, one truth that Ronin had fought for months. Sanaa was his mate. He should have claimed her then.
A bitter note of guilt, however brief, was all Ronin needed to snap back to reality. He slid across the kitchen on his knees, pressing his back into the cold, stainless-steel oven. Sanaa leaned up on her elbows, looking down at him with mingled confusion and cautious hurt.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Fire and desire swam in his blood, muddling everything but her scent and taste. The Heat had him. Between making peace with his would-be mate and the stupid vision quest, incantations hadn’t been on his mind that morning. There was no point in trying now. The wyrd was nothing in the face of a dragon’s Heat.
“Go to the bedroom," he grunted out. "Lock the door."
Blind rage crept over Sanaa’s features, burning all the hotter for the lingering desire in her eyes. “What the hell is you’re problem?”
“Just go!” Ronin roared. Only distance could save him now, but he didn’t trust himself. Any path out of the house would lead straight to her.
Sanaa didn’t move. Could she hear the desperation in his voice? She slid down from the counter and knelt beside him. Her scent reached his nose again, almost overriding everything else.
Damn it, Sanaa, go!
She took his face in her hands, her touch gentle and warm. “I don’t think you want me to go,” she whispered, reaching between them to stroke his member. The soft hiss that fell from his lips brought a wicked grin to her face. “Doesn’t feel like it, either.”
“It’s the Heat.” His voice was low and rough in his ears, tinged with raw need. He couldn’t hide it from her if he wanted.
Sanaa leaned forward, letting her breath caress his ear. “It’s not the first time you’ve been inside me, Ronin.”
He hips lurched forward, a moan rumbled in his throat. “A quickie isn’t going to do it this time.”
She shrugged. “So, don’t be quick.”
Ronin took hold of her wrist, stopping her just as she started to explore his body. “Dragons mate for life, Sanaa. Do you understand what that means?”
“Like I said, unless you are kicking me out, I’m not going anywhere.”
Ronin grabbed her wrist, but her fingers continued to tease and caress him. “Sanaa, I— “
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “No excuses. No Prince Charming routine. I don’t need your heart, Dragon. Your body will do.”
What could he say in the face of that? He had no defense for her hungry lips against his, her moist entrance teasing his tip. No excuse or words of warning as she implanted herself on his cock, riding him with passionate abandon. Her lips on his skin, teasing and sucking his flesh, was enough to quiet his objections. His fingers moved over her skin, caressing every inch as if to leave a memory of him etched in her skin. She clung to him as her slick folds clamped down on him, milking him. It was over in seconds, but he could already feel the powyr of the bond taking hold.
Sanaa belonged to him. Even if she didn’t know it yet.
8
In her dreams that night, Sanaa went to the mountain clearing again. With trembling hands, she gripped the rusted bell they used to summon the dragon and waited. The same dream had haunted her since the night she found out she was pregnant. Sanaa went to the clearing then, just as she did in the dream, but the dragon's words of warning scared her off from her task.
This time, for the first time, Sanaa rang the bell. She could hear the hollow clang reverberating off the canyon walls in her dream. But when Sanaa opened her eyes, she was still in Ronin's bed, wrapped in the massive down comforter. Ronin and the baby were nowhere to be seen, but his soft voice and the infant's bright laughter filtered through the half open door.
She grabbed her discarded pajamas and tugged them on before she went into the living room. The baby lay in a basket on the deep kitchen counter, propped up by a series of pillows so she could see her father work. Ronin stood at the kitchen table bent over the charred carcass of a bat demon.
"Tell me that's not what's for breakfast," she said.
Ronin glanced over his shoulder. The warmth of the smile that spread across his face lit up the dragon's eyes, but there was no fire in them for once. "I'm teaching Shayla here about scrying."
“Shayla?”
He shrugged. “It seemed to fit.”
Sanaa plucked the girl from the basket and nuzzled her cheek, noting the scent of fresh soap against her baby soft skin. He'd even taken the time to slip her into one of the adorable but completely impractical lace dresses he bought for her. "And what, pray tell, is that?"
“Powyr comes from the wyrd which is infinite, right? But the ways a person can come up with to use it is decidedly more finite. You can learn a lot about an opponent by their methodology. Figure out the methodology of someone powyrful enough and you have a calling card."
A smile tugged as Sanaa's lips as she let the baby latch onto her nipple. Something about the moment, listening to the Dragon show off his knowledge while holding their daughter, felt precious. "What do you use to figure that out?"
“I pull apart a sample of their work. Spell and charms are difficult, they just leave residue behind, but it's pretty easy when someone is kind enough to leave fleshy samples of their work on my front lawn. Awfully sloppy of her, though.”
"A horde of dark walker’s spawn attacked your house in the middle of the night, and the part that is tripping you up is that they didn't poof into non-existence?"
Ronin furrowed his brow and laughed. “I guess I didn't realize how strange that would sound to someone who doesn't apply powyr that way. If all I have is a spell or charm to work with, I have to rely on my own powyr to find what I need. It can be done, but it takes more time and energy than I have to spare right now. If I have something physical, I can use physical tools, like scrying, to amplify the effect."
Everything about his demeanor was looser, freer than she’d ever seen him. If she’d known one night of great sex could improve his mood so much, she would have suggested it sooner.
"Okay, that makes sense. But you already know that Niabe made the bat thing. I don't see how this helps."
A strange expression crossed the Dragon's face, but he turned his eyes back to the burned carcass before Sanaa could gauge its meaning. "The identity of the caster isn't the only thing I can learn from a sample."
Ronin's hesitation caught Sanaa's attention though he tried to cover it by plucking a sliver of heart tissue from the body and setting it on a wooden cutting board. She'd never known the Dragon to hesitate about anything...unless he thought the fallout of his actions might be too much for her. "What are you trying to learn now?"
"Where Niabe is," he said.
Sanaa started to tell Ronin that he was wasting his time, that she could tell him exactly where her mother lived or at least guide him to her building. But when she opened her mouth, it dawned on her why he hesitated.
No dark walker, no matter how desperate to cling to the remains of their old life, would ever guide a skinwalker to their lair. That had been a ploy to lull Sanaa into a sense of security. It had worked.
“Is this how she keeps finding me?”
“No,
I think she’s using more visceral powyr for that.”
Sanaa rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand what that means.”
Conversations with him had a way of making her feel like she hadn’t been raised in the same world as Ronin. But the isolation skinwalkers courted out of necessity, left them at a disadvantage when it came to the ways of the rest of the powyr users of the world.
“The creation of life is one of the most complex and least understood forms of powyr there is. A mother infuses the child she carries with wyrd.”
“Like antibodies.”
“Exactly. That process leaves a trace just like any other form of powyr.”
She glanced at the baby in her arms, her nose scrunching rapidly as she guzzled mouthfuls of milk. “I don’t feel anything unusual.”
“It’s like scrying. You have to know how to do it.”
Sanaa took a moment to sort through the implications of Ronin’s words. The pit of her stomach sank. “You’re telling me she can find me anywhere in the world?”
“Maybe not that accurately. But she would always know which direction to find you. After that, it’s a matter of time and patience.”
“Running was never an option.”
He shook his head. “Not for one second.”
It had occurred to her more than once since the first attack that if she took the baby and ran, Niabe might simply follow. The confirmation that escape was not, and had never been, possible settled on her like a weight slung across her chest.
"I hope you’re a better sorcerer than Janna is a soothsayer," she said. "She's wrong 60% of the time."
“I’m decidedly mediocre. Any powyrful being can learn to weave magic like this, but you’ll always be strongest with your innate form of powyr. I can get by with fire spells, but this method of powyr is not my natural state.”
