by Anthology
They whisper in the dark, Cass hanging from the branches of a tree, fighting not to cry as she pretends it’s all a game too. Somehow Cass gets Allie to understand that she is serious, that they have to go...that they have to go right now while it is dark, before too much time passes, before her father comes here and finds her.
Then Allie beckons her to crawl through the window and they are putting on clothes and then they have shoes and they are downstairs in the kitchen and Allie is making them baloney sandwiches. Cass watches her do it, watches Allie hum quietly while she works, a smile at her lips and all Cass can do is watch her while some part of her mind screams: HURRY HURRY HURRY even as she sits silently on a red-painted stool wearing Allie’s clothes and trying not to think about anything at all...
He sees her running again, with Allie this time, and they are holding hands...
But he already knows how this ends too.
He’s never seen this, not in the details, but he knows.
She doesn’t escape. She doesn’t really get free. Not ever.
At the thought, he hears a scream in her mind and some part of him breaks apart into pieces with her, hating every second of this...
Hating that it’s already past.
Hating there is nothing he can do to stop it.
8
A Glimmer of Light
He opened his eyes, blinded by tears.
He didn’t know where he was.
His chest hurt, but he can barely feel it as he groped for her, looking for her light even as his hands looked for her body. She was next to him, he realized, lying on the floor beside him. He turned before he could see clearly, pulling her against him, bizarrely concerned about the fact that she is lying in the ice cream cake, that her hair is coated in it.
She was crying too.
He found himself kissing her face, kissing her tears, caressing her cheek with his fingers, wiping them away. She didn’t fight him that time, or even flinch away. Instead he felt her pulling on him, and when he could finally see again, her hands were wrapped around his arms, one of her legs coiled around his.
Letting his weight fall on her when she pulled on him demandingly, he tried unsuccessfully to wipe the cake out of her hair...or maybe her hair out of the cake.
After a few seconds, she noticed his concentration. She looked up and back, puzzled, then seemed to put it together with what he was doing, why his brow was furrowed.
She startled him, breaking out in a laugh.
When he looked down, surprised, she smiled. Tears filled her eyes again.
“I ruined your cake,” she said, her voice broken, unclear.
Leaning down, he kissed her mouth. They kissed like that for a few minutes more and she was crying while he flooded her with his light.
“I can wash it out,” he offered. “Your hair...there’s a shower...”
She laughed again, clutching him tighter.
She didn’t speak though and he felt pain on her, not sex-pain that time.
He felt her struggling, wanting to ask him things...maybe to yell at him some more or beat on him with her hands. He opened his light further as he felt all of those things, surrendering his light to hers completely, offering her whichever of those things she wanted, whatever she needed from him. He was sending her love then, in every way he knew how, and she let out a low, pained gasp when he held her tighter. He felt her flinch away from the heat in his light; then she seemed to give up on that, too, until she was just lying under him, gripping his shirt in both hands, her fingers sweated into the fabric.
He felt her growing quieter in that.
He felt her light begin to open, grudgingly at first, then in more and more relief when he only opened more to accommodate her.
He listened as her heart slowed, as her breathing deepened.
Eventually she just lay under him, her forehead pressed to his chest.
She unclenched her hands, and then they were inside his shirt, stroking his skin. He fought with whether he should say something, but felt her shake her head where her forehead remained leaning against his chest.
“No,” she said quietly. “No, please don’t.”
His arm tightened around her, even as he supported himself on his other arm and elbow to keep from crushing her under his weight.
When she started crying again, he didn’t move, or try to change position.
He started stroking her hair again when he felt her ask for it. Then he rolled to his side, wrapping both arms around her when he felt her ask for that, too. He opened his light more, sliding deeper into hers as he coiled that warmer part of himself around her.
That time, she didn’t fight him at all.
Instead she wrapped herself around him in return, sighing in a surrender he felt down to his bones. Pressing her face to his chest, she curled up against him, inserting one of her legs between both of his.
He sent her more of that heated affection even as tears came back to his eyes.
He had no idea if she even noticed.
* * *
He woke up on his back, with her lying on his chest and most of his abdomen. The sickly sweet smell of ice cream seemed to be coming from under him now....and he decided they must have rolled in it again at some point in the night.
He touched her hair and his hand came away sticky and he almost laughed.
He’d woken her though, and guilt slid over him as she raised her head.
For a long moment, they only looked at one another.
It was dark in the cell now, so he had no idea if she could even see him.
“I can’t take the collar off you,” he blurted. “Not yet. I can’t, Cassandra.”
She didn’t look away, but he felt a whisper of puzzlement on her. Part of his military training included being able to pull detail out of darkness...and the cell wasn’t completely without light. Therefore, he also saw her frown.
“I know,” she said, her voice puzzled too.
He nodded, but that guilt didn’t leave him entirely.
“Can I have that shower now?” she asked, pulling on him deliberately with her light.
He barely hesitated before he nodded.
“I’m going to get turned on,” he confessed, feeling the need to say that too.
She grinned. “I hope so,” she said. “That’s why I asked.”
Later, he couldn’t remember how long they actually showered.
He managed to reconfigure the set up they had in place for her bathing needs, enough to get the organic floor to create a drain wide enough to get rid of the last of the cake once he’d hosed it down. He tried to move the backpack and the stray comic book out of the way first, but the latter had already stuck to the floor with melted cake, and gotten crumpled from one of them rolling over it while they slept.
Balidor felt bad about that too, but Cass seemed to find it funny.
He hosed off the floor and then the two of them, then she had her mouth on his cock and he forgot about everything for awhile. By the end he couldn’t take it anymore and had her pinned under him on the floor as he fucked her into an orgasm, using his light so intensely that she yelled at the end, digging her nails and fingers into his back.
He came somewhere in that too, unable to help himself once she opened her light, especially after she started calling out his name as she tightened her legs around him.
He felt a swell of possessiveness towards the end that made her flinch, then stare at him again in the dark. He tried to pull it back, to control his light but he struggled with that too.
It wasn’t pride that time, it was guilt again.
She told him he was being stupid.
“You’re a seer,” she’d said impatiently. “Seers are possessive. Deal with it.”
He nodded, pulling on her with his light as he kissed her shoulder. Pain flickered back through him, making the possessiveness worse.
“You might not want to give me permission to indulge that,” he murmured.
She shivered whe
n he bit her, his hand gripping her wet hair in his fingers.
When it got quiet again between them and he felt himself getting hard, she exhaled in a sigh, looking up as pain ribboned off her light.
“Balidor,” she said, making his cock harder when she spoke his full name, enough that he closed his eyes. “Balidor...what are you doing?”
“Trying to fuck my girlfriend,” he said, his voice low.
She stiffened, staring up at him. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said, his voice hard, even accusing. “Can we just cut the crap on this? Yarli knew. She knew for weeks before we called things off for good...months maybe. Why the fuck do you think we broke up?”
He felt more than saw Cass gape at him in the dark.
“Don’t I get a vote in this?” she said, her voice sharper.
“Of course. You have been voting,” he said gruffly, pressing his cock against her. “You can reverse your vote at any goddamned time. Tell me to leave you alone. I swear to the gods, I will. I won’t come back at all, Cassandra...not if you don’t want me to.”
There was a silence.
He felt her try to take his words in different ways than he meant them.
He felt her try to hear them as a threat.
Then to hear them as a lie.
In the end though, she sighed. He felt the surrender in her light, right before she reached up, sliding her fingers into his hair. She clenched her hand until it hurt and he felt her willing him to look at her as she spoke, putting light in her voice.
“If I ever catch you lying to me, it’s over ‘Dor. Even once.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
There was another silence.
Then he said, “Do I get any stipulations?”
“No,” she said, her voice sharp. She tilted her head sideways in a seer’s shrug. “Not yet. You’re a trial boyfriend at this point. Can you handle that?”
He fought not to smile, knowing she’d feel it.
“Yes,” he said, feeling his pain worsen as her light opened. “Yes. I can...handle that, Cassandra.”
“Are you going to fuck me again?” she said, her voice still faintly demanding. “Right now, I mean?”
“Yes,” he said, opening his light as he leaned his weight on her.
She sucked in a breath.
Somewhere in that, he also felt her make up her mind.
For real that time.
Heat hit him in the chest as he felt the intensity of her decision...more than he could deal with at first. He let out a heavier groan, pressing his body against hers, but when he raised his head, he was smiling. She must have felt it or seen it on his face, because she let out a half-annoyed snort that wanted to turn into a laugh.
“Don’t get cocky, brother Balidor....” she warned.
He laughed for real, even as his pain abruptly worsened. “You might want to rephrase that,” he murmured, kissing her face. “You just gave me an unbelievable fucking hard on, Cassandra...”
She pursed her lips. “Fine!” she said, her voice still amused. “I’m your girlfriend, okay? We settled that part. Now are you going to fuck me? Or kiss me at least? What are you waiting for?”
He grinned. “For you to ask.”
“I just did!” she said, letting her hands drop to her sides. At his silence, she let out an exasperated snort. “Fine. Kiss me, you great big annoying––”
That time, he didn’t let her finish.
The End
About JC Andrijeski
JC Andrijeski is a USA Today bestselling author who writes sexy, apocalyptic and cyberpunky paranormal and science fiction romance, often with a metaphysical bent. She has a background in journalism and history, travels extensively and has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the continental United States. She currently lives in Bangkok, Thailand. http://jcandrijeski.com
The Clockwork Dragon by Tasha Black
A dragon's fire can melt the coldest heart.
Most of the magic has gone from the world. So when a vision of a golden-eyed prince appears to Marie, she knows it must be significant. On the eve of the most important night of her life, a gorgeous older man arrives in Tarker’s Hollow and presents Marie with an unusual gift: a magnificent clockwork dragon. The race is on. Can Marie resist her newfound passions long enough to solve the mystery of the golden-eyed prince and the clockwork dragon before it’s too late? Will she unlock the magic inside herself in time to save her family? And will the seductive stranger unleash the desires she is trying so hard to keep at bay? The Clockwork Dragon is a steamy, standalone novella, set in the world of Tarker’s Hollow, home to the bestselling Curse of the Alpha and Fate of the Alpha serials.
1
Perchance to Dream
There was hardly any magic left in the world.
Her parents said it was because of the internet, and the death of any sense of wonder. Her uncle Otto, after a few glasses of wine, told tales that put the blame on a darker force, blocking out the magic like the moon eclipsing the sun.
Marie didn’t think it mattered much, one way or the other.
Until she began dreaming of the golden-eyed prince, and her heart leapt in her chest.
He was a vision. He had to be.
The prince was so handsome in today’s dream, his dark hair framing his handsome face, long lashes kissing his cheeks, mischievous eyes shining a startling gold.
He stretched out his hand, a tiny smile curving up one side of his cruel mouth.
Marie clutched it without hesitation. Feverish warmth greeted her, the rough beading on his snow-white jacket a delicious contrast to the velvet of that warm hand.
A snatch of familiar music floated by, a butterfly on the wind, not lingering long enough for her to make out the melody.
The scent of almonds - achingly sweet, and almost sentimental – permeated the air.
The smallest sliver of uncertainty crept in, and the prince’s grasp softened under hers, threatening to become the wispy stuff of dreams.
But when she met those dazzlingly golden eyes, all her doubts vanished.
Warm honey spread through her limbs under his ardent gaze.
He caressed her cheek with his other hand and the sensation spread to the place between her legs, a throbbing so intense it felt like a weight - utterly different from any desire she had ever tasted before.
“Marie,” he whispered.
She leaned closer, dizzy at his proximity.
“Marie,” he said, more insistently.
She wanted to respond, but her voice failed her. She tried to show him with her body that she was listening, completely alert and ready to absorb whatever magic he might share.
“Marie!” her mother’s voice pierced the vision.
The golden-eyed prince gave her a half-smile, and melted away.
Marie awoke in the urgent embrace of her mother.
She tried her best not to cringe away. Her body still sparkled under the spell of the prince, his song still rang in her ears.
It just wasn’t fair - she had been so close.
“Darling, how can you be napping right now?” her mother asked. “Just look.”
Her mother, Addie Ironwood, looked hardly older than Marie’s twenty-two years. Though, of course, she was more than twice that.
While Marie was tall and curvy with long raven hair, her mother was tiny and doll-like, with mousy curls.
At the moment, she looked smaller than usual as she clutched the long, beaded, white satin dress.
“It’s the gown for tonight,” she exclaimed, looking down at it fondly like it was a second daughter.
Marie forced a smile, though it felt like icicles in her heart.
She was a disappointment.
Her parents were kind, but it was only because they had to be. Marie suspected they must wish they’d had a different daughter - one who would bring back the family magic.
It had weighed on her, an invisible burden, for as long as
she could remember. Although it seemed unfair, since neither of her parents had any real magic to speak of. But rather than excuse her, that fact only served to worsen the issue by making Marie her family’s last hope.
A hope she’d dashed.
No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many tutors and charlatans her parents paraded through, her magic just wouldn’t come.
This was why she had not told them about the golden-eyed prince.
The visions created such a delicate spark, she worried the inevitable gusts of her parents’ tremulous excitement would extinguish it before it ever had a chance to burn.
Instead, she cradled the visions in her own head, protectively.
They were probably only dreams.
But as long as she didn’t expose them to disproof, there was hope. And they were hers.
Marie was becoming quite possessive over her prince, even though he never told her his secret.
She was sure he would, eventually. But she needed him to hurry if it were going to be of any use.
Tonight wasn’t just the usual Christmas Eve party. This weekend would be the passing of the torch. And if Marie didn’t have her magic by the time of the Choosing, their family would be royalty no more.
They probably thought she was sleeping so much, since arriving home for her last winter break from college, because she was depressed about failing them.
In fact, Marie’s napping was deliberate, if not frenzied. Because of her grandfather’s death, a new matriarch or patriarch of the magical community must be chosen. By rights, it should have been Marie. Magic sometimes skipped a generation, meaning stronger powers for the final recipient. If that were true, she was due a hefty dose.
“Let’s try it on!” her mother chirped.
Marie sat up, feeling invigorated, as she always did after the visions.
Late afternoon sunlight suffused her room, filling the huge windows and pouring in over the window seat to caress the spines of the books lining the walls before making its way over to the copper posts of her canopied bed.
