And maybe, someday, she wouldn’t recoil when he offered a touch.
At his feet in a neat pile on the rug were her ripped-up shirt, her socks, and her jeans. He stared, trying not to picture her bare hips.
Dragon had been sitting on her clothes the entire time he’d wedged himself between the bed and the wall. He’d done the same thing several times over the centuries. Staked his claim. Showed Ladon what he wanted by caressing a hip and marking a woman with his scent. Ladon always went along with it, enjoying the company and the attention and the sex, mostly to make the beast happy.
He rarely had the chance to choose a woman on his own.
He pulled off his socks. Best not to allow his emotions to attach themselves to a Fate. The sun would rise in a few hours and until then, he’d sleep, happy for a moment to feel the warmth from her body.
He dropped his t-shirt next to his socks and lay down on top of the blankets. The bed creaked and she rolled over, her nose inches from his shoulder. Dazed, he took in her complex scent of warm blossoms and mist-under-the-moon.
Her hand moved toward her chin but stopped when her nails grazed his elbow. Fingers moving in the small jerks of sleep, she curled her hand around his arm.
He kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, the taste of her skin lingered, sweet as he suspected it would be. Sweet and lovely and as dazzling as her scent.
She’d fallen into his life accidentally, unintentionally. He couldn’t be swayed by the promise he’d seen in her eyes. They had boundaries to consider. Edges to delineate.
What did she see when her eyes shined and she bared her soul to him? Did she see a man and a beast, or did she see his soul, with its marks and scars and shriveled attempts to be human?
Would she be willing to take his hand and lean against his shoulder and be patient enough to see him as something other than an anachronism?
When she sighed, he closed his eyes. Best not to think of such things. He and Dragon had a job to do. Then they’d return to their quiet life. Entertaining fantasies of a new voice in their silent world would lead nowhere.
But tonight, he’d give her comfort. He drifted into the few remaining hours of sleep left to him, his fingers wrapped around hers.
15
She never dreamed like this. She should be pondering how to find her mother, or how to deal with the shackles, or how to avoid a burning fate. Yet her dream hands threaded under his t-shirt and over the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest.
She dreamed of the heat of his body and the shelter of the space between Ladon and the beast. Of calmed seers and lights and strong hands soothing her fears. Of his dream breath, intense and full of desire, tickling her neck.
Then he was inside her, moving with slow determination, his arms twined in a tight embrace around her body. Solid arms, his fingers learning every curve and line of her hips and thighs. Arms that would never let her fall.
They moaned, but no sound filled her dream ears. She knew only the deep rumbles pushing from his body into hers. She felt his mouth. His tongue. Curls wrapped around her fingers as she stroked his hair. He smiled. Gave a kiss.
She’d never felt this good. She couldn’t, in real space. No one wanted her like this in real space. Yet here, this man—this beautiful, perfect man—wanted to spend his life with her.
Consciousness flickered, the dream fading. Images, tactile and visual, vanished, but her body ached. The dream retreated into a desire. Maybe a hope. She floated in the space between sensing what she wanted and knowing what was real.
She began to reintegrate information from the world. Her front felt hot. Her back tingled cold and uncomfortable. The blanket wound around her hips and compressed her legs. Squirming, she yanked, but something large held it down.
Distant now, the dream beckoned. She wanted to find it, to remember, but only the ache in her belly and a lingering sense of happiness remained. If she held it close, maybe she wouldn’t forget.
She opened her eyes, knowing she’d have to, sooner or later.
Ladon grinned, his mouth inches from hers. “Good morning, beautiful.”
One of his thighs lay between her legs. Her head rested on his shoulder. He stroked down her arm, gentle but firm.
Shock hit hard and she flung herself backward.
“Careful!” He reached for her but she flopped off the edge.
When had he come in? She didn’t remember Dragon leaving. Did she black out? Why had she cuddled against him in the middle of the night? She’d wrapped her entire body around his. “What—”
“Dragon didn’t want you alone. And I needed sleep.”
“Umm…” What had he seen? She wore only a t-shirt and her panties.
“Nothing happened. I swear you’d sleep through a tornado. Or a volcano. Or a wrecking ball coming through the window.” He pointed at the curtains fluttering in the breeze.
“Oh!” Her attention snapped to outside. Did she sleep through an attack? Ladon wouldn’t be here with her if she had. He’d be beating up Burners. Punching them with all the strength in those arms.
She blinked. Diffuse images popped into her mind, more physical sensations than anything she saw. Did she dream about him?
“It’s okay.” He sat up.
No shirt covered his torso. Or his shoulders. Or those arms. Every muscle skirting his core defined, his chest sculpted, he moved with a fluid grace no man should possess.
He grinned again. “You’re nice to look at, too.”
She snatched the blanket off the bed and held it under her chin. It pulled between her breasts and she kicked at it, fanning it out to cover her front.
His eyes traveled over every curve and plane of her body, but he wasn’t doing the terrible calculations guys always did. He looked happy, like she’d expect him to look when he watched Dragon play. Tom never looked at her with such reverence.
She pulled the blanket tighter. “How long have you been awake?”
“A while.” His grin widened to a smile and he picked up his t-shirt off the floor. He sniffed it, frowned, and flicked it like he was airing it out.
“A while? And you let me…” She waved and the blanket dropped across her legs. Grabbing it again, she pulled it tight around her neck.
He laughed as he twisted his torso into the black shirt. Was everything he owned black? His jeans were dark gray. His boots had once been black. That jacket with the plating on the sleeves was black, too. So was the van. He probably owned sunglasses with black lenses.
“You were asleep. And obviously happy.” He winked and sat back on the bed, weaving his fingers together behind his head.
Aware that her mouth was open, she snapped it shut. “You’re terrible!”
His smugness vanished and he gestured at the ceiling. “I’m sorry! I’m a jerk, okay? I was a jerk when I was callous about your… your… attention issues and I was a jerk when I touched you downstairs and I’m a jerk right now.” He paused. “Dragon didn’t want you alone and damn it, you can hate me for it, but I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”
He stared at her with his incredible golden-brown eyes, his brows and mouth both frowning. She’d made him feel bad and he sat on the bed, all handsome and pouting with the most kissable lips she’d ever seen.
Rysa gulped air into her lungs and she stepped back against the dresser, her fingers fumbling. She shouldn’t think of him that way. They didn’t know each other. But he apologized for being a jerk and he wasn’t treating her as if only her boobs mattered. And he did have kissable—
The blanket fell to the floor.
His mouth opened enough that she glimpsed his teeth.
He hurdled from the bed and lifted her up in one smooth motion. She floated for a moment, held in the air by solid muscles, her body as weightless as the morning sun warming her back.
Her bottom came to rest on the dresser. He leaned toward her, his gaze locked to hers until his chest pressed against her breasts and his breath tickled her cheek. His lips hovered just ab
ove her temple.
What had she dreamed? Touching him this way, feeling him this close, overrode all the but but but thoughts that any sane woman should have. He was a jerk who didn’t like Fates. Except the ones he considered friends. And he apologized.
It took all her effort not to moan.
His breath grazed her ear, his lips moving along its edge. “Your seers are rich and beautiful and very distracting.” He didn’t back away.
Like you. Whether the thought came from her nasty or from him, she didn’t know.
She fought her own body as her arms enfolded his waist. The need to tuck her fingers under his shirt and feel his skin blotted out everything else.
A groan rolled from deep inside his chest, more a low boom than any sound a human should be able to make. “I think they’re affecting me. They did in Minneapolis.” His body felt like a bow about to snap, but he didn’t move. He held her without gliding his touch over her skin. His lips pressed into her hair but he didn’t kiss. Nor did he press his obvious erection against her belly.
She tried to breathe through it but her deep inhales only thrust her breasts harder against his chest.
“I know your seers showed you something about us when we found you. Something physical. Your eyes dilated. Your hips swayed and your cheeks colored. The same responses happened just now.”
Even with the stench of Burner clinging to him, he smelled of sunshine. It mingled with the texture of his skin. She pulled him closer. The metal around her wrists dug into his back, but he didn’t recoil. He continued to hold her thighs.
“When I touched you last night, it made you angry. You shouldn’t be angry, Rysa.”
She heard the words but they slipped by, lost in her hyper-focus on a spot on his chest just below his heart. She wanted to kiss it, to lick it. To experience in the what-is what she knew would be a brilliant, bone-melting reaction.
Her hand glided up his torso.
He grabbed her wrist. A pause and he kissed her knuckles. “Say something.”
Her body didn’t want to talk.
Another groan boomed from his chest but she leaned toward him, holding tight to his waist with the hand he didn’t grasp. His tension rearranged itself, moving from a uniform tightness to a rock in his lower back.
“We can’t do this.” He kissed the bridge of her nose before he pried himself away enough to see her eyes. “You deserve more respect than a jerk like me can give you.”
He wanted her, but he wanted her to want him more.
“You’re not a jerk.”
He almost touched her cheek. His fingers stopped a hair’s breadth from her skin before his hand vanished to his side. She wouldn’t have pulled away this time. She would have concentrated on the feel of his fingertips as he traced the line of her jaw.
He tilted his head, his eyes distant. “Maybe someday I’ll be worth that look in your eyes.”
A tentacle whipped. What-is, the real present, sank below her seers’ vision of what-will-be:
His palm glides over her naked breast, his fingers pinching her nipple. Their bodies entwine, as much of their naked skin touching as possible. Dragon’s colors. Dragon, with them.
Then what-was: Tom, her first love, on top of her, moving faster and harder than he should have her first time. He was completely involved in his own pleasure. Not thinking about her. She could tell. He didn’t look at her.
But Ladon’s eyes will gleam, happier than she thought possible.
It all heaved through her, her back arching. A cry tore from her throat.
“Rysa!”
The real world snapped back. She wasn’t on the dresser. She was on the floor straddling Ladon’s hips, a knee on each of his wrists. Her arms tightened around her chest and her hands burrowed in her underarms. The damned shackles scraped through Harold’s old t-shirt.
They were still dressed. They hadn’t—
“What did he do to you?” Ladon’s eyes narrowed to slits. His cheek twitched, his neck muscles tensing so tight the line of his jaw turned white.
“What?” She’d pinned him, but her actions weren’t the focus of his anger.
“Someone hurt you. I felt it. Just now. I—” The concern in his eyes worked down his features and loosened his jaw. “I see it on your face.”
She touched her cheek. Tears.
“No one will ever treat you that way again.” He smacked his shoulders against the floor. “Damned normals.” Then he turned his face away and muttered something that sounded vaguely like “snap his neck.”
“What happened?” She didn’t know. Did she black out again? Ladon’s anger caught her off guard. They didn’t know each other. Why did he care about Tom?
Everything reeled. She couldn’t think.
“You don’t remember? You flipped me and started crying.” He nodded toward his hands. “Will you let me up?”
“Oh.” Lifting her knees, she released his wrists.
He sat up and pulled her close in one motion, a protective shield against any pain another man might dare think toward her, much less inflict.
“I’m sorry, Ladon. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I… I don’t do that. I’m not like that. I—” She babbled but she didn’t want him to let go. She felt safe for the first time since she activated. Safe against his chest. Safe from Tom’s meanness. Safe like maybe she’d find her way through the hell of her fated future.
“I need to learn how to handle this connection we have.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have picked you up. You’re—” He stopped suddenly, holding his breath. “I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. It’s disorienting.”
“Disorienting is one way to describe it.” Most people didn’t get first-hand knowledge of what it meant to greet the day with a head full of attention deficit.
He shook his head. “But by the gods, you are hard to resist.”
She snorted. It snuck out her closed mouth. Sure, she was hard to resist. She was a spaz who clung to him like some pathetic sea creature.
He held her away so she could see his eyes. “You are exquisite, Rysa.”
Her mouth dropped open. Men didn’t say things like that to her and mean it. They said it to soften her up so she wouldn’t pay attention when they did their little mental calculations. And they never used words like “exquisite.” Always “sweet” and “nice” and “doable.”
“Has no one told you so?”
She shook her head.
He hugged her close again. “Modern men do not understand true beauty, even when it sits on their laps wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and lace panties.”
She covered her still open mouth. “Oh!” Her cheeks warmed and she bit her lip, though she knew she shouldn’t be ashamed. They hadn’t done anything.
“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.” He lifted her off, but he didn’t revel in her awkwardness. “Dragon’s with Marcus anyway.”
She realized he’d never leave out Dragon. Not with her. She was too important to the beast. Her mouth dropped open again. She hadn’t considered that. “Oh.”
He exhaled hard and scratched the back of his head. “I apologize. Again.”
“How can this be happening?” She’d reacted the same way to Tom. Four days and they were having sex in his dorm room. Like it was inevitable.
Ladon smirked, running his fingers through his hair. “I think your seers are pushing the future into the present.” He smirked again and looked away.
A buzz vibrated from under the bed, followed by a chirp. When they dropped to the floor, they kicked her clothes. Now only one leg of her jeans was still on the rug next to the bed. Her phone was in a pocket.
Her phone’s battery had been low yesterday. It must be about to run out of power. And she’d forgotten to check on Gavin. How many times had he texted her since last night? She reached under the bed, happy for the distraction, and pulled out her phone.
Nineteen. He’d texted her nineteen times.
“So the whine was f
rom your phone,” Ladon muttered.
“My friend Gavin.” She cycled through his messages. Where are you? Are you okay? I can’t find you. Rysa, please text me back. Please. I know your phone is on. The cops are looking for you and your mom.
He was okay. The Burners hadn’t eaten him.
Ladon stared, unblinking, at her phone. “Is he the one who hurt you?”
“He’s my friend. The Burners chased him and—”
“You were in danger and he ran away?” Annoyance, anger, and something distinctly male Rysa didn’t understand pulsed off Ladon. He continued to stare at her phone.
Ladon acted as if her impulsiveness had infected him. “He’s my friend, Ladon. I told him to run.”
He shook, an intense micro-moment accompanied by a blink, and stared at her for another moment.
Then he sprang to his feet, not looking at her again. “I’ll go downstairs.” He grabbed his boots so fast his motion blurred.
The door banged against the wall when he stalked out.
She watched him go. Were her emotions backwashing to him? They had to be. And Ladon couldn’t tell the difference between Tom and Gavin.
In her hand, the phone’s screen went dark, the battery now completely drained.
She’d gone to counseling after Tom. The woman had sat on the other side of the room, nodding and saying obvious things like “How do you feel?” and “Write down your thoughts. We’ll go over them next week.” Rysa had. Diligently. She’d learned three things: She was mad. Sad.
And bad.
She never told the therapist. Saying it out loud made it sound even stupider than it did when it rattled around in her head. Even then, before she knew she was a Fate, she knew her Fate’s soul wreaked havoc on the men in her life.
She set down her dead phone. She shouldn’t involve Gavin in any more of her problems anyway.
Involving Ladon and Dragon was bad enough.
16
You must not drink. Dragon seized Ladon’s vodka and poured it on the driveway. Rysa will smell the liquor. She will not be happy.
“Give that back.” Ladon snatched at the bottle but Dragon threw it over the garage. The morning sun hit the glass as it sailed through the air and Ladon squinted at the glare. “All the damned phones and wifi in the house are giving me a headache.”
Games of Fate (Fate ~ Fire ~ Shifter ~ Dragon #1) Page 11
