He thrust again, determined that she understand what she did to him. He’d turn her pleasure into ecstasy and he’d make their anger nothing short of fury.
She gripped his buttocks, her fingernails digging deep, and pushed him deeper, though he knew it was too much. She wanted to feel it anyway. “You can’t control… what-was-is-will-be…Ladon.”
“Quiet!” He’d have what he wanted. He’d have her, the future—or the past and present—be damned. “Don’t ever…” A thrust. “…sacrifice… yourself again… Rysa!”
“You selfish…” Another thrust. “…son of a… bitch,” she snarled in return. Another thrust, another breathy moan. “It’s not… all about…you.”
This was about them, not him.
“And I…” More deep, guttural moans. “…thought your… sister was… the whiny one.”
“Be quiet!” She was the one who almost killed herself, not him.
“No!” She dug her nails into his shoulders between thrusts. The pain made him feel alive. “You want… me to stay?”
Ladon grabbed her wrists, hooking first one then the other in one hand. Pulling her arms up, he slammed them hard against Dragon’s belly. Her entire body tightened against his—around his. Rysa bucked against his thrusts.
“You can’t… live without me?” Her pupils were so wide he saw only their inky depths. She stared at his face and her own contorted with her rising pleasure and her escalating fury. “You’re… going to have… to learn…to let me go… and to… live with me.”
You are mine, he thought. Tell her she’s mine, he pushed to the beast. One hand gripped her wrists, the other pulled her pelvis toward his with each thrust.
Her mouth took his again, their lips mingling, their tongues dancing. If she made calling scents, he didn’t know, but he ached for release. Each stroke pushed him farther into the haze. No more thinking, no more feeling beyond his body taking what it needed.
A construct fell into his mind—let it go. The constraint needed to ease and the edges to loosen. The shades are two millennia worth of pressure buildup.
“Let it go,” Rysa whispered.
His entire body stiffened, and he thrust one last time, burying himself inside her. He let go of her wrists. He let go of her thigh.
But Rysa did not. Rysa held tight.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Sleep came, called by both the beast and the woman. Ladon dreamed of his nakedness, of rocks and dragons and, perhaps, fire. But Rysa stroked his back and breathed out ‘calm.’
Ladon settled. She spoke soothing words, whispered of her life and his. She did her best to make sense of what had just happened, and to share it with him. The deep parts of his mind listened, thankful.
Up front, Derek drove.
“The van’s stopping soon.” Rysa kissed along his forehead. “We need to dress.”
Dragon rolled toward the front of the van to sign with Derek.
Ladon opened his eyes only to be dazzled by the sight of his woman. Gone were the splotches and the bruises. Gone were the fevers and the chills. Rysa watched him with her lovely eyes, from her lovely face, her exquisite body curled around him.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
How was he feeling? “You’re the one who almost died.”
Her expression hardened and her lips thinned. Hints of calling scents whirled around him—strong hints. More than hints. She breathed out a full-on brew.
Her seers jumped and pranced around him. They jolted, swinging hard from what-was, to what-is, to what-will-be.
“You’re calling all three of your seers?” Had something happened while he rested? Ladon sat up straight, pulling off Rysa.
She didn’t answer, only handed him his clothes.
“Rysa, what’s going on?” He felt perplexed more than anything else. The fury, though still a real part of him, a point in the body of his existence, had unknotted. She’d massaged that muscle to release.
He swung his shoulders, testing range of motion, though he knew what needed testing was a wholly different body system.
“I want to do something before…” She paused, glancing between him and Dragon as the beast rolled back from his chat with Derek. “…before it becomes too strong.”
“Before what becomes too strong?”
She’s cycling up, Dragon pushed. He touched first Ladon’s back, then Rysa’s cheek. Her calling scents are becoming too intense.
Ladon twitched. His body shook, his perception zeroed in on Rysa. He stared, gleaning information from the tilt of her head and the tension of her joints and muscles. Was she okay? Did she hurt? Was she hiding something?
The hell never stopped. It would never stop. Something was wrong.
Rysa moved fast and gripped his face. “Look at me,” she said. “Look right at me.” ‘Determination’ blew into his nose.
The van halted. Ladon looked up.
“We’re okay and I will explain, but you need to get dressed.” She glanced at the van’s back door. “Meet us outside.”
Ladon nodded. Dragon dug in the bin next to his leg. “What are you doing?” he asked the beast.
Dragon only pointed at his jeans.
Rysa flowed toward the van’s rear door, his lovely angel in her tight top and jeans. Looking over her shoulder, haloed by the morning sun, she smiled before stepping out.
Dragon followed without a word, several insignias and a length of leather cording in his great hand.
Alone in the van, Ladon pulled on his jeans. He ran his palm over his scalp, feeling the stubble of what had once been his hair. It’d grow back, though maybe this time he’d keep it short.
Outside, he closed the door. Dragon dropped his snout down from the van’s roof and nudged Ladon around the side.
They’re waiting.
Ladon rounded the corner of the van. Derek had parked them off the road in a secluded lookout. A brisk wind blew down the road and Ladon rubbed his upper arms in protest. They were high enough in the mountains that the air bit.
The Rockies spread before him, glowing in the light cast by the rising sun. The colors of the West danced over the summits as flames in the open areas and cool lakes in the shadows. Snow touched the highest peaks. Trees grew up to the line, where scrub and bears took over.
The majesty of the land left him breathless.
He’d always loved the mountains. When they lived in Europe, he and Dragon explored every peak they’d come across just for the pure pleasure of it. Ladon pulled in the cool mountain air, and allowed his body to remember.
Derek stood next to Rysa, and they turned away from the Rockies when Ladon rounded the corner. His brother-in-law wore a borrowed pair of Ladon’s jeans and stood with his hands in the pockets. He looked healthy—very healthy, Ladon thought. Healthier than even after the times Dunn pushed back his blood disorder.
But Rysa took all of Ladon’s attention. When she smiled and reached out her hand, nothing else mattered, and for that moment, Ladon believed they’d be okay.
Go on. Dragon pushed him forward.
She clasped his hands, her thumbs rubbing the sides of his palms. He looked down, mesmerized not only by the feel of her skin on his, but by the perfection of the pressure, and the rightness of the movements. Her fingers listened to his muscles, and spoke back soothing touches.
“We don’t have much time,” she said. “About an hour, then you and Dragon will need to stay back.”
She wasn’t making sense. “We’re not leaving you again.” He moved to pull her close, but she held him at arm’s length.
“I told Derek to stop here. Because of the view. And the wind.” She swept her arm toward the mountains behind them. “It’s strong enough but you can’t get too close for extended periods of time.”
“I don’t understand.” But he did. He smelled it—her calling scents were strong, like her seers. And they were growing in intensity.
All the crap they’d just gone through wasn’t backing off. It wasn’t stopping
. It—
Derek grasped his elbow. “Don’t freak out. Just listen.”
“I think whatever Vivicus did to me, changed me.” Rysa touched Ladon’s stomach. “My enthralling abilities are… increasing. They’re growing in strength and I can’t turn them off. I’m making every brew possible and I don’t know how to stop.”
They could attempt to calm him all they wanted but his vigilance screamed that he needed to respond to this new threat.
“Ladon, my Shifter and Fates halves are not fighting each other anymore. I’m healthy.” She glanced at Derek, but held tight to Ladon’s hand. “I’m okay but I have to stay back until we get this sorted.”
She wanted to be away from him?
“I’m not giving you up,” Rysa said. “Not you. Not Dragon. Not for anything. Don’t worry.” She pulled a leather cord out of her pocket—one Dragon had pulled from the bin—and an insignia, like the ones she and Derek wore.
Rysa held out both the leather and the new insignia. “I’ve found my place in this world. With you.” The cord swayed in the wind before she set it on Derek’s palm. “It’s going to be hard, not just because I’m a target, but because we both need to figure out how to live with ourselves.” She paused and her fingers danced over his knuckles. “And with each other.”
All he heard was I’m not giving you up. It blinked in his mind as if it hung in the air. She’d stay, no matter how much of an idiot he was.
Derek chuckled and scratched at his head before taking the insignia from Rysa.
But she smiled a big, wonderful smile, one reflecting back to Ladon all he felt for her. “It’s a struggle I will face,” she said, and pulled their hands together, nodding to Derek. “If you will face it with me.” She nodded to Dragon. “Both of you.”
Derek wrapped the cord around Ladon’s and Rysa’s clutched hands, and laid the insignia on top of their fists. Dragon poked his head between their sides and lifted his snout to touch the underside of their hands.
“There,” Derek said.
Rysa breathed deep, pulling in as much of the mountain air as her chest allowed. “You will be my husband, Human and Dragon.”
Ladon’s fingers tightened around hers but he didn’t crush. He wanted to say “You are my wife,” but he didn’t want to crush this moment, either. He’d had enough of crushing. And enough of being crushed. “You will be my wife, Fate and Shifter.”
I have two Humans. I am happy.
Derek chuckled again as if he’d heard Dragon. “I witness this betrothal.” He nodded once and stepped back.
Ladon picked up his betrothed and held her close, kissing her with everything both he and Dragon held inside. A myriad of calling scents danced on his tongue, and the moon and mist and jasmine. But mostly he tasted ‘love you.’
Dragon circled them, first touching their sides on the left, then the right, his lights mingling with the wonders of the Rockies beyond their spot on the lookout. Ladon took it all in, and let it all go. He kissed Rysa deeply, his mouth touching, and he understood—believed—everything would be fine.
Ladon didn’t know what the future held. He wouldn’t ask, either. It’d be cheating.
The story continues in Fifth of Blood….
Fifth of Blood
Chapter One
Seven days from now…
Grandpa Andreas told her she was dangerous. He called her a true hornets’ nest.
The douchebag asshat in front of her didn’t know the half of it.
His blue-green enviro-suit creaked and crinkled. He lumbered and twitched and waved the wrench he carried in his gloved hand.
Sweat plastered Rysa’s hair against her mouth and added ash and Burner stench to acrid notes of her own fear and exhaustion. Her hand wrapped around the axe and cold crept from the handle to her palm. Praesagio Industries collapsed to nothing more than the spruce-colored suit in front of her.
That suit was meant for the ocean more than to protect a body from the acid of a Burner or the mind-shattering calling scents of an enthraller. Seams sealed out air and water. The hood, with its mirrored facemask, concealed. A rebreather recycled the wearer’s air.
He swung. The wrench hit her shoulder and almost shattered the bone of her upper arm. But Rysa Torres, the Draki Prime, the healer of dragons, pulled through her pain and drew a long breath of Praesagio’s dust-choked air. And Rysa swung the axe weighing in her hand.
The axe’s cut-steel head was balanced only in pounds by the flare on the end of the handle, not in ounces, and it rolled in her grip. It was an axe meant to take down walls. To open holes so those needing to escape a burning world, could.
Not to defend a young Fate-Shifter from a Roman Emperor.
Rysa’s white-hot seers ruptured and flared like a supernova. He was about to swing the wrench again.
Burning sat on her tongue as a hot, acidic aftertaste her calling scents could not mask. It popped in her ears as a crackle as loud as her own breathing. And it colored the world with dragon flame.
The monster grunted loudly enough that Rysa heard it through his suit’s hood. This time, he raised the wrench over his head. This time, when he hit, she flew sideways. Her collarbone fractured, and she slammed into the edge of a tool case, but she held her body straight. She would not allow the monster in front of her, the thing who was much worse than her uncle Faustus, see the blinding hurt screaming through her body.
He twisted slightly, she knew, to see her clearly through the mirrored facemask. One more hit and she’d knock off his rebreather. He’d go down like everyone else who came too close to her, a shrieking heap on the floor rocking back and forth because he couldn’t breathe anymore.
No one breathed around her. No one. She was Fate. She was Shifter. And her calling scents set brains on fire.
He wouldn’t get by her. Not now. Not ever.
She would take him down and he would never control the Dracae.
She lifted her arm, righting her collarbone and pulling the bone flush. Under her skin, bone knitted, but she wouldn’t move the axe to the other hand. She wouldn’t show weakness.
They were matched weapon for weapon. He was bigger. But Rysa healed.
The monster wiggled his shoulders inside his military-grade ocean suit, breathing singular air pulled from a filter system capable of trapping ash and fire and the calling scents of an out-of-control Shifter.
The wrench arced toward her again. Its reflection glinted for the briefest moment on the plastic of his hood, mixing with the gleam and glitter of sun streaming in through the broken roof.
The iron in her hand slashed, but the suit held. And this monster, this man who still counted himself Emperor of all—the normals, the Fates, the Shifters, the Burners—swung his weapon one more time….
Fifth of Blood
Chapter Two
Now…
Rysa Torres leaned against the door of a stolen sedan, her phone in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other. Her soon-to-be brother-in-law, Derek, had parked at the far end of the big mall’s lot, in the little patch of asphalt to the side of the main entrance. He’d been nice and gone into the mall to buy supplies—and to do recon—by himself. So she could tease Ladon “privately.” Or at least as privately as allowed in a parking lot.
The road ran by just up a dusty embankment, separating the mall and its movie theaters from the big box stores, the liquor warehouses, and the indistinguishable chain restaurants. Blocked from the shoppers by a rock-filled median and the sorriest-looking little tree she’d ever seen, the spot offered some privacy.
Which she so very much wanted.
Three days in a car with her butt on a rock-hard passenger seat and Derek cramming two thousand years of Dracae history into her head left her squirrelly. Both he and Andreas seemed to forget that attention deficit meant a real, honest-to-goodness deficit in attention. Without the calming effects of Ladon and Dragon’s energy flow, a lot of what they threw at her didn’t stick.
But she did learn about the s
heer quantity of actual Romans walking around, and Derek’s thoughts on modern Russia. And she lived through the “necessary” three-hour lecture on Fate-Shifter politics, even though Derek refused to talk about the Shifter Progenitor. She’d been so bored her seers started whipping around, looking for something—anything—else to think about.
Like the gorgeous man standing next to the driver’s side door of his van, thirty-five feet away, his own phone to his ear and his binoculars to his eyes. She looped her binoculars around her neck, moving her hand slowly over her breasts as she leaned forward into the light thrown by the lone streetlamp a few feet away. A finger worked over a nipple and she opened her mouth, releasing a breathy sigh into her phone. Not a lot of light filtered over the sedan, but just enough to make her movements distinct and clear.
Ladon’s growl rolled between the vehicles, a deep, masculine call of pent-up desire so loud Rysa didn’t need her phone to hear it. She grinned and ran her hand down her front. Then she splayed her fingers, and she dropped her palm to her thigh.
“Guess where I put the other insignia,” she purred, watching him watch her. Before she’d cycled up too high, Ladon had tied leather cording through new Dragons’ Legion insignia. He’d bound one to her uncovered wrist, and place another around her neck. She wore three visible now, and one she’d put on herself. In a hidden place he’d have to find.
He dropped the binoculars away from his eyes and just stared, one eyebrow cocked, chest forward and legs firmly planted, like he was about to sprint across the pavement and sweep her up in his arms.
Which he couldn’t. Her Shifter calling scents spewed at an insane level that no one could be within thirty-five feet of her. Not Andreas or AnnaBelinda or any normal. Not Ladon. Not Dragon, who rested on the roof of the van, his hide dark and mimicking the Santa Fe landscape. The poor beast was trying very hard to ignore his humans’ little game.
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