Uthman’s defense was becoming increasingly erratic, no doubt fueled by desperation. Grim amusement on Malin’s face, and a set to his shoulders proclaimed he was fully in control. The warriors all looked on, varying degrees of satisfaction on their faces. Her heart sank. This was likely the core of the faction to oust Geza. And now they had even more justification. If their former Prince was now fully healed and hale, why suffer the younger, wilder brother on the throne?
“Malin, end it,” she said, hands in fists. Not that she objected to the violence, but toying with a man who knew he was about to die was cruel. And a side of her mate she didn’t want to see. She placed a hand over her abdomen and the tiny spark of life cradled inside. She hadn’t even booked an appointment with an obstetrician yet. Everything had happened so fast the last several days–weeks.
Malin’s sword flicked, and blood burst into the air, a brilliant red against the backdrop of the night. She didn’t know how humans saw colors at night–but she’d learned over the years that it wasn’t the way gargoyles experienced colors.
Uthman gargled, blade falling to the ground as his wings crumpled.
Chapter 5
Malin landed a moment later, feet silent on the earth as he walked towards Surah, ignoring the body on the ground.
He cupped her cheek. “Are you upset I killed your husband?”
“Someone has jokes since he won a fight.”
He grinned, fangs peeking out and for a moment he looked just like Geza. She grimaced. “I wonder if the serum has gone to your head.”
He sobered. “We’ll have to talk about that, my love, but later.” He glanced at Kausar. “I’m taking her home, and then we’ll speak.”
Kausar nodded.
“What do you want done with the body?” Niko asked.
“Drop it on Lavinia Mogren’s threshold. And find me the officiant who married them–bring him—”
“Her,” Surah said.
“Bring her to Geza and report. I’ll follow after I’ve seen to my mate.”
Malin sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around Surah. She wound her arms around his neck, snuggling flush against his chest and tilted her head back as he lifted off. This was as close as she would ever get to flying, held fast in her mate’s arms, the wind sharp on her skin. What she wouldn’t give for her own wings, to feel the power and exhilaration of flight.
The stress of the last several hours hit her in a rush. Now that she was safe, now that she was on her way home, her body went limp.
She buried her face in his neck. “Malin.”
Her breasts smashed against his rock hard chest, the warmth of him, the life pulsing through his veins, and as he flew…her body woke, desire kindling and she wanted him, desperately. And didn’t want to wait.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, his arms flexible steel around her. The powerful thrusts of his wings carried them higher and higher in the air. Overhead the moon shone, a full, orb of life-giving light. She reached between their bodies, blood boiling, and slid her hand inside his pants.
“Surah, what the hell are you doing?” he growled.
“Mate with me the way gargoyles do,” she said, and unsnapped the trousers unzipping him to free his cock.
It was a testament to his control and strength that they didn’t go tumbling out of the night sky. He was in her hand, thick and pulsing with heat. Smooth as silk, hard as stone. She lifted her hips, tugging her skirt up around her waist, positioning herself and used the spongy head of his cock to push aside her panties.
Then she impaled herself, sliding down his length with a cry the wind whipped from her throat. She was gargoyle enough the thin, cool air didn’t affect her the way it would a full-blooded human. She fucked him, eyes closed, pillowed in his arms, pillowed by the wind, her pleasure mounting with each stroke.
The wind changed and she knew they were downtown, Malin descending until she felt the soft jar of feet touching ground.
“Now,” he said, voice soft.
She opened her eyes. His face was drawn taut and he braced himself, feet far apart, grabbing her hips and taking control of the thrusts. He moved her hips at the pace he desired, spearing her body with a force he’d never shown before. She bit her lip, the strangled moans caught in her throat because she didn’t have breath.
His wings flared out, the snap of leather sharp in her ears, blocking out the light, a snarl on his lips. He lowered her to the ground, eyes on her neck.
“Good thing this place is covered in grass,” she muttered. Or else her back might get a bruising.
He ignored her, still lodged deep in her pussy, and placed hands on her chest, bunching fabric between his fingers and ripping the dress down the middle, tossing it aside as she shrieked.
“Do you know how much that cost?”
But he refused to let her speak, pulling out of her body and flipping her over, drawing her hips up so her ass was in the air, her thighs wide apart. He nudged her entrance, then slid home. And fucked her as if he’d completely forgotten his worry that she wasn’t quite strong enough to take all of his strength.
“You wore it when he wed you,” he said. “It will be scraps when I’m done with it.”
“Mature,” she gasped.
He pinched her buttock and it was the thing that sent her over the edge. She screamed, the orgasm bursting deep in her body and rippling through her core. He gave one final thrust and bathed her pussy in hot seed. Surah giggled. Sending little soldiers to keep the tiny egg company.
Her giggle turned into an uncontrollable laugh.
“Surah? What’s wrong with you?”
He pulled out of her body, Surah gasping again because, damn, he’d pounded the living hell out of her and drew up her up, cradling her against his chest.
“You’re hysterical,” he said. “It’s fine. You’ve been through an ordeal.” His hands roved up and down her torso, more soothing than sexual, one settling over her mound in a possessive gesture that was probably involuntary, but maybe not.
“I should have had them dump the body at Geza’s feet in court,” he said. “To show what happens when a male touches what belongs to me.”
She rolled her eyes, laughter quieting. “Okay, Mal. Can we get something to eat before we go to court? I’m starving.”
Malin fed her, but they couldn’t stay to themselves for long. After a light meal–well, mostly dessert–Surah insisted they use an airtran to fly.
“I know you feel strong, Mal,” she said. “But we don’t know when the effects of the serum will wear off.”
“What if it’s permanent? I’ve felt like this for weeks.”
She scowled. She didn’t like that he hadn’t told her—that messed with her research, made it harder to pinpoint the exact time the new effects began kicking in. She needed that kind of data, but Malin thought it was okay to just—
“I can see you ranting in your head,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “Transport. You can show off how big and strong and manly you are later. Once I’ve run some tests.”
He shrugged, a testament to his good mood that he gave in and they boarded an airtran. She missed being cradled in his arms, but there would be plenty of time for that later.
They arrived at the compound and set down near the training yard. Warriors descended from the sky immediately–males in Geza’s colors.
“Prince Malin, we’re ordered to escort you to Prince Geza immediately.”
He nodded and they were surrounded by a guard. Malin seized her around the waist as everyone took off. No gargoyle would make the walk inside, trap him or herself inside an elevator when they could just fly the short distance to the landing balcony at the very top.
Though Geza’s formal throne room was on the ground floor, he spent most of his time in the open air ballroom attached to his suite. When they landed, Surah stiffened. Geza stood in the middle of the room, a blade in his hand. Lavinia Mogren knelt at his feet, back ramrod straight, a special vest binding
both her arms and her wings. Surah felt Malin stiffen subtly at the sight–involuntary sympathy–then relax.
“Nice you could join us,” Geza said. He glanced at Surah, a single encompassing look that raked her from head to toe. “And my sister looks fine for having been kidnapped and wed without my permission. My sister.”
It was typical of a gargoyle to be more upset over the lack of permission from him, rather than her lack of consent. Her eyes narrowed.
“And I’m certain she wasn’t happy about it either,” he added, not looking at her. Then sighed. “Or my brother. Did I forget to tell you your nephew is dead, Mogren?”
Lavinia said nothing. Geza kicked her knee. “I’m talking to you!”
“Calm,” Malin murmured, taking Surah’s hand and drawing her near. “The anger of a Prince should be cold.”
It was a testament to how disturbed Geza was that he didn’t snap at Malin for correcting him in public. Or maybe he was growing up.
“I should just execute you and be done with,” Geza said to Lavinia. “You must be desperate to hatch a stupid plan like that and then leave it in the hands of morons.”
“Uthman was your friend,” Mogren said.
“Which makes it even worse! Who can I trust? My own brother thinks to unseat me–the friends I bring to my table betray me for power. And you–you were supposed to be my Councilor, but you’re as rotten as the rest of them.”
This was devolving rapidly into another rant. Surah stepped forward. “Move her trial date up, Geza. You can execute her now, but that will anger the highborn families who want to see due process of one of their own–even though we already know she’s guilty.”
Geza looked around the room. His various warriors and friends of the court were gathered, silently watching. “Trial?”
There were a few murmurs, several nods. Geza growled, sheathing his sword. “This is so anti-climactic. It should be like in the good old days–off with her head and throw the wingless corpse off the tower.”
Surah suppressed a gag. It must be the pregnancy.
“Are you sick?” her brother asked. “Someone get her a bucket.”
Chapter 6
“Aren’t we supposed to be getting married today?” Malin asked.
Surah made a few more notes, glancing up at her betrothed. “You’re not supposed to see the bride or something like that. What are you doing here?”
He crossed his arms, brow rising. “What am I doing here? Well, my wife’s handmaid tells me that said wife is missing, and they have hair, makeup and other female things to do…and I just knew you were in the lab. Working.”
She blew out a breath, disturbing her bangs. “I already showered and put on the scented lotion. Give me some credit. But Cole—”
“Surah. Get your ass upstairs and get dressed.”
She gaped, but sniffed a moment later when he lowered his eyes to hide the mirth–Malin couldn’t keep a straight face when he was trying to be mean, even if it killed him.
“Well, you’re not dressed. Lana, save data and shut down the lab. We’ll be gone a few days.”
Malin snorted. “Let’s not go all wild and crazy. A few days without working?”
“You sound like your brother,” she said, striding past him. “Go plague Geza. I’ll be ready in an hour.”
“I’ll tell the guests to have another drink while we wait on you, my love.”
Geza and Malin had argued long and hard over the venue for the wedding. Malin wanted to marry on his property, Geza intervened saying that the parents of his Heir would be wed in the home of the Prince.
“That’s an order!” Geza roared.
Malin had snorted, crossing his arms. “You can give me orders when you learn how to hold your blade.”
Surah had intervened, heading off the fight before it began. She chose Geza’s tower because ultimately, she didn’t want the court and all the other guests trampling over her lawn or snooping through her home.
So after a barrage of stylists attacked her–“So good of you to join us, daughter,” Adagia had said–and she was dressed, hair and makeup styled, simple jewels draped around her neck and at her ears, Surah and the wedding party entered a limousine and made their way to the gargoyle complex. As it lifted into the air, she sucked in a breath, pressing a hand to her stomach.
“Get her a bag,” Adagia said, and a small, white sack was shoved under her nose. “Try not to mess up your makeup.”
She’d always thought of her mother as quiet and retiring, but these last few days after the aborted kidnapping, the woman had been a tyrant.
They set down in the courtyard and Surah emerged from the limo, flashes of cameras going off all over. She paused, like a good tabloid princess, and let them get their shots, a little annoyed at how easy she fell into the poses. Then walked inside, her party trailing her in their gowns. They made their way up to the open air ballroom, standing outside the wide door as the official Sililu had hired to help run the actual ceremony rushed up.
“Princess! I already let them know you’re here. Now let’s go over one more time—”
Eventually everyone was ushered into place and the solemn beat of a drum began. Her wedding party–Sililu, Adagia, several ladies of the court, and a few human women from the lab–went in before her. When it was her turn, another drum joined the first and then a third until it was a somber chorus.
The door slid open and she walked, willingly, over the threshold.
Inside the guests were arrayed in circles around the center of the room where Malin would stand. The drums stopped. Surah halted and as one, every person in the room, including Malin and Geza, knelt. It was the only time in a female gargoyle’s life her husband, family and friends were required to prostrate themselves to her.
Probably, Surah knew, because in many occasions the sacrifice she was making was an unwelcome one, and they were all trying to grovel, encouraging her not to make a scene. But in this case, her feet carried her to the center of the circles quite willingly. When she reached Malin everyone rose.
Geza’s voice filled the air. “Princess Surah Adar-Ioveanu!”
The roar of voices echoed their Prince three times.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Malin said in her ear under the cover of the shouts.
“That’s good,” she said. “Our garlings won’t be ugly, then.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready since I was a girl.”
His eyes flared and she knew her wedding night would be extra special. Surah slid her hand over Malin’s arm, and they turned towards the officiant. Surah smiled at the woman ironically. But it wasn’t her fault she’d also been preempted to marry Surah and Uthman. Officiants, who presided over births, deaths, marriages and other small legal matters, were required to remain neutral in all situations and come when called. Surah was glad her brother hadn’t imprisoned the woman, but merely asked her to locate the marriage paperwork so it could be annulled.
Surah put those thoughts out of her head.
“Malin Ioveanu and Surah Adar-Ioveanu, you both come here before witnesses to declare your intent to marry. Are you both here of your own free will?”
Surah had insisted the wedding script be tweaked, to include the question of her willingness. There was a slight stated murmuring the crowd, but she knew that at least the women would be pleased.
“I’m here of my own free will,” Surah said.
“And I,” Malin echoed.
“And being both of you of highborn rank, you assert that you have the blessing of your Prince to wed?”
“We have his blessing.”
The officiant smiled. “Then as you are both adults of sound mind, and there is no reason why you should not wed, and as you are both members of the court who have received the blessing of your Prince, insofar as you are both willing to bind yourselves, and your honor, to each other, I decree that you are husband and wife.”
A r
oar from the audience, because gargoyles loved a chance to shout, and Surah turned to her husband, brow arched. “Can we do the whole ‘you may kiss the bride’ thing?”
His lips curved as he drew her close. “My pleasure.”
The ceremony was brief because traditionally these things could end in battle if dragged on too long–but the party would last all night long. The food and alcohol flowed, dancers of all cultures were brought in to entertain, even a comedian and a famous pop singer. Malin and Surah went back to the courtyard to take pictures and speak to the press before attending their party.
After a time Surah noticed one of Malin’s human employees, the brown-skinned girl with curly hair. Surah approached. “Bea, right?”
The woman glanced at her, startled. “Yes, Princess.”
“Surah is fine. Look, don’t let any of the males bother you, all right? They’re mostly bark, so if you woof a bit, any flirts will back off.”
Bea smiled. “I’m good, thanks. The ceremony was nice–gargoyles don’t do wedding vows?”
“We’re not a very romantic culture. Marriage is business, mostly.”
“That’s…interesting.”
Surah grinned and lifted her wineglass of grape juice in salute and wandered off. Petru waylaid her, expression sour. “Congratulations on your marriage, Surah,” he said.
She clapped him on the back. “Don’t be sad, it was never going to happen with us. But we’ll find you a nice girl with wings and some money to settle down with. Don’t worry.”
Malin claimed her for a dance, the hip-grinding, heart-pulsing kind of dance that had her looking around for a dark corner. He just shook his head at her, grin faintly malicious.
She rolled her eyes and pushed at his chest. “I’m getting something to eat since you’d rather party than fuck.”
“All in good time, my love.”
Surah was making her way to the buffet table when she saw her mother sitting in a corner with a human male. Surah stopped, changing course, curiosity piqued. The man was tall, lean, with dark hair and eyes and a suit that would be more at home in a university lecture hall than a wedding. He wore thin-framed glasses, which told her he was either poor or hopelessly old fashioned.
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