Heart of the Dragon

by Gena Showalter

  She clutched at his shirt, then kneaded his neck, opening herself up, silently demanding he hold nothing back. He was humbled that she responded to him so openly, so uninhibitedly and so quickly. A deep-seated yearning to let her goodness seep into him blossomed and heightened. How desperately he wanted to press deeply inside her, over and over, and take her in every position imaginable until this hunger for her vanished.

  He eased himself on top of her, allowing them both to lie in her bed as he'd imagined doing moments before. He gently rolled them to their sides. Had she been coaxing him to his death, he gladly would have followed. The full lushness of her breasts cushioned his chest. Besides the thin shirt, she wore a small patch of lace between her thighs. She was the most erotic little creature, and he resented the minimal barriers preventing complete skin to skin contact.

  She settled one leg over his waist, cradling him intimately, and he sank deeper into the apex of her legs. He hissed in a breath at the exquisite pleasure. He knew he should shove her away, knew he should begin the questioning. He did not have much time, for he already felt the weakening effects of leaving Atlantis.

  But he could not stop. Was helpless. Desperate for her.

  He had to have this woman.

  His lust for her was dangerous, forbidden, but time slipped outside of reality, and Darius allowed himself to feel instead of think. As he did so, the very things he'd always despised became his greatest allies. Tenderness. Passion. Greed. Warm, female flesh tantalized him. Her sweet, feminine scent drugged him. Smooth and perfect. A sheen of sweat covered his brow.

  As if she read his mind and discerned his needs, she sucked on his tongue, nibbled on his lips, and slanted her mouth for greater penetration. She taught him the way of it, consuming him bit by enticing bit. And he let her do it. He would have begged her to continue if necessary.

  He trailed one hand over her body, tracing the velvety texture of her skin, first along the column of her spine, then over the roundness of her bottom. She moaned, and he slid his fingers between her legs, allowing them to travel up and over her panties, her moist heat, then under her shirt.

  "I love the feel of your hands," she gasped when his fingertips grazed her nipple. He circled the hard bud with the tip of his finger. "So good."

  She'd said as much to him before and still he relished the words. They made his every nerve dance and clamor to please her. He licked her neck and rubbed against her, nestling his erection in the pulsing heart of her desire. Their gasps blended, his strained, hers hoarse. Which only made it clear they both needed more.

  "I want you naked," he said raggedly.

  "Yes, yes."

  Impatient to see her, he tore the folds of her shirt in two. She didn't flinch from his action; instead she arched her back, offering herself to him. Silently telling him to do with her what he would. Her breasts sprang free, revealing two rosy nipples, both pebbled and wanting. In the moonlight, her slightly rounded stomach glowed like fresh cream, and a small, silver jewel winked from her navel. He paused and fingered the stone.

  "What is this?" he asked.

  She wet her lips. "A belly-button ring."

  He'd never heard of such a thing, but praise be the gods for its creation. The eroticism of seeing a jewel nestled in the hollow of her stomach nearly felled him. His muscles taut, he bent his head and flicked his tongue over the little bud. She gasped and shivered. His body jerked in response.

  "I shouldn't have done it," she said, gripping his shoulders, urging him on with the sting of her nails. "I'm not skinny enough."

  "You are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld."

  Her heavy-lidded gaze met his. She opened her mouth to protest, then cupped his jaw and compelled his lips to hers. He slanted his chin, taking more of her, sinking into her. As his fingertips continued to caress the jewel, he trailed kisses along her shoulder and neck, then moved to her breasts. Biting her lip, moaning, she bowed toward him, letting him suck her nipples deeply, hungrily. He wanted to taste all of her at the same time: her stomach, her nipples, the core of her.

  "Darius?" she said, her tone thick and drugged with arousal.

  "Hmm?" Though his body urged him to finish what they'd started, he continued to savor. Continued to feast on her.

  "I want to possess you, body and soul."

  He stilled, gazing down at her and thinking he must have misheard. No woman had ever said such a thing to him before. Perhaps he'd left them too quickly. Or perhaps they'd been as unconcerned with him as he was with them. "Tell me what you wish to do to me." His voice emerged hoarse, choked.

  "I want to give you pleasure." Her eyes were like turquoise flames. "So much pleasure."

  "How?"

  "By kissing you like you're kissing me. By touching you like you're touching me."

  "Where?" He couldn't stop the questions. He needed the words.

  "Everywhere."

  "Here?" He skimmed his hand inside her panties, felt the softness of her hair, and dove two fingers inside her silky wetness.

  "God, yes!" she screamed. Her eyes closed, and she moved her hips with his fingers. She moaned, "That feels...that makes me...Ohmygod."

  "Do you want to touch me like this, sweet Grace. Between my legs?"

  "Yes. Oh, yes." Grace uttered a ragged exhalation and coasted her hands under his shirt and across the bold, black tattoos on his chest. The tips of his nipples speared into her palms as a deep thrum of pleasure rocked her entire body.

  His fingers were stretching her, but oh, Lord, the pleasure. Darius's thumb found and circled her clitoris. Lost in the magic of sensation, she gripped his forearms and let herself be swept away. So close...almost there.

  "Seeing you like this," he whispered, "touching you like this gives me more pleasure than I deserve."

  He crushed his lips to hers in a deep, open-mouthed kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. He was kissing her the way a man kissed a woman right before sinking into her body. Kissing her the way she needed to be kissed. Her knees squeezed his waist, and she gripped his butt in her hands. His fingers never stopped working her.

  "I want so badly to make you mine," he said through gritted teeth.

  Something hot and wild exploded inside her just then, not allowing either of them to go slowly. He wanted to make her his woman, but she needed him to do it. She fisted her hands in his hair, holding him captive while she deepened the kiss. Other men had kissed her, but this was the first time she ever experienced a kiss with her entire body. This was the first time a man had ever made her feel as if she were his entire world.

  His thick erection pulsed against her thigh and the need to have it inside her, a part of her, consumed her heart and soul. "You're so thick and hard. I want you, Darius," she told him, the words coming from a secret place within her. The most honest part of herself, a part she couldn't deny, though she knew she should. "I do. Make love to me."

  "I--" A hint of reason swept into Darius's consciousness. He couldn't make love to this woman. To do so and then to destroy her would be more vile than anything he'd ever done in the past.

  She ran the tip of her tongue over his neck, up his chin, and placed little nips along the column of his jaw. "I want to do this with you every night. Just..." Kiss. "Like..." Nibble. "This."

  Every night. The one thing he couldn't give her. He had a duty to fulfill. Touching and tasting this woman was not part of it, much as he wished otherwise. Mired in guilt, he broke all contact, tearing himself away from her and jumping off the bed. He stood, staring down at her, fighting for control. And losing. Her taste was still in his mouth.

  Her cheeks were flushed like the barest rose. Moonlight caught the moisture on her lips, making them glisten, beckoning him to sample them once more. Getting near her again was pure folly, he thought with self-disgust. Yet every instinct he possessed screamed that she was his. That she belonged to him and was his sole reason for living. Her conquest--no, her surrender--would be his greatest victory.

  But ev
en as he entertained the wild thoughts, he denied them.

  Javar had fallen to a woman. Many years ago, his former tutor had taken a female dragon as his bride. She had softened Javar, made him lax in his duties. He became less cautious with the mist, no longer so quick to kill. That laxness had most likely earned him death. Or worse. Even now Javar might be imprisoned somewhere, being tortured for his knowledge and authority over the mist.

  Darius could not allow the same for himself. Softening would mean the destruction of Atlantis.

  Irritation raged through him--for what he couldn't have, for what he shouldn't want. How could the merest touch of Grace's lips and body reduce him to a fire-lizard focused solely on sensation? And how did just being with her let him glimpse everything missing from his life? Warmth. Love. An escape from the darkness.

  Allowing himself to know the sweet joy of being in her arms, in her body, could destroy everything he'd striven so adamantly to build. She was life and light, and he was death and shadows. Joining their bodies would be more folly than simply allowing her to live with knowledge of the mist.

  "We must stop," he said, the words ripped from him. He summoned all of his strength, all of his resolve.

  "No. No stopping." She sat up slowly, a frown marring her features. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded from sleep, still relaxed from the peace spell, and she blinked. "I want you to make love to me. I need you to make love to me. I'm close. So close to climax."

  "Cover yourself," he said, the words even harsher than before. If she didn't, he might beg her to strip completely.

  The front of her shirt gaped open, revealing those perfect curves. When she didn't rush to obey, he leaned down and gripped her shirt, careful not to brush her skin. He was pushed past his endurance already, and one more touch...Whether his will was weakened because of his distance with Atlantis or because of Grace herself, he didn't know. Sweat ran down his brow as he tied the ripped hem together, partially covering her breasts, yet leaving a tempting amount of cleavage.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, staring down at his hands, seeing the same image he saw. His darkness against her paleness. His strength against her femininity.

  He pulled away, not responding.

  Grace blinked. Shook her head. Heady passion still held her in its wondrous fog. She ached. God, she ached. At first she'd told herself Darius was nothing more than another figment of her imagination, but she'd known the truth. She knew it now. He was real, and he was here.

  He promised he'd come after her and he had.

  A shiver raked her spine. How she'd ever convinced herself those few hours with him in Atlantis had been nothing more than her water-deprived imagination, she didn't know. And it didn't matter now. It didn't matter why he'd come. All that mattered was that he was here and he wanted her, too.

  Grace's gaze traveled the length of Darius's body. He wore the same black leather pants as before. Instead of being shirtless, however, he wore a black T-shirt that showcased every muscle, every ridge of sinew.

  As she watched him, the peaceful lassitude woven so delightfully into her blood began to fade. The corners of her lips turned down as a lone beam of moonlight struck Darius's face, making the golden-brown of his eyes gleam. She paused. Golden? Before, in Atlantis, his eyes had been blue. Ice-blue and as cold as the color implied. Now they were a warm, golden-brown and hinted at untold pleasure, but also an inner pain so staggering she was amazed he hadn't buckled under the burden of it.

  His features tightened, and his eyes lightened. Lightened until that cold, crystalline gaze was back in place. How odd, she thought, shaking her head.

  "There is much we need to discuss, Grace," he said. The rough edge of his voice sliced through her musings. "When you finish covering yourself, we will begin."

  Here she was, offering herself to him despite everything, yet he didn't want any part of her. The rejection hurt deeply.

  She must have hesitated too long, because he added, "Do it. Now." His jaw clenched.

  Unease dripped past every other emotion working through her, withering her relaxation a bit more. This was the man who had threatened to hurt her. This was the man who had chased her and locked her away. This was not the man who'd held her tenderly, who'd kissed her so passionately.

  "Darius?" she said with a wisp of uncertainty.

  "Use the sheet," he said.

  "Darius," she repeated, ignoring his dictate.

  He flicked his gaze to the ceiling, as if praying for divine intervention. "Yes, Grace?"

  "What's going on?" It was a silly question, yet she could think of nothing else to say.

  "I told you I would come for you, and so I have."

  She swallowed. "Why?"

  Before she had time to blink, he unsheathed a small blade from the waist of his pants and held the razor-sharp tip at her neck. The contact was light, not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting all the same. She gasped and whimpered, the sounds blending and echoing off the walls.

  Darius arched a brow. "We are going to have a chat, you and I."

  "You didn't travel all this way to talk," she said. And he hadn't traveled here to make love to her, either. What exactly did he want from her?

  "For now conversation is all I require of you." His blade stayed suspended in the air for another fraction of a second before he slid it back into its sheath. "Do not forget how dangerous I am."

  Yes, he was dangerous. And if now was for conversation, what was later for?

  Fighting a cold sweat and a timorous shake, Grace scrambled up. Her sheet and comforter whisked to the floor in a tangle at her feet. Darius remained in place, as if he feared nothing she could do. Determined, she reached into the backpack on her nightstand, knocking down the empty wineglass in her haste.

  She withdrew her Mace and without any hesitation, sprayed him in the eyes. While his roar reverberated in her ears, she bolted out the bedroom door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EVERYTHING HAPPENED within seconds.

  One moment she was racing through her living room, the next Darius tackled her from behind. He slammed into her, propelling her facedown. They landed on top of her couch, and the impact squeezed every molecule of oxygen from her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, he flipped her over and locked her wrists above her head. Still a favorite position of his, obviously. She didn't have time to panic.

  "My soul belongs to you, and yours belongs to me," he chanted, his voice strange, hypnotic. His gaze clashed with hers, ice-blue calculation with turquoise uncertainty. The rims of his eyes were red and swollen, but as she watched, all hint of the toxic spray vanished.

  "What are you doing?" she gasped, growing increasingly light-headed.

  "Bound we shall be," he continued, "from this moon to another, then set free."

  Her blood whirled inside her veins as a strange, dark and oddly compelling essence invaded her. Dark, so dark. Scattered thoughts flashed through her, motionless images in black-and-white--images of a child's terror, hurt, and search for a love never found. Images of desolation and an ultimate withdrawal from emotion.

  The child was Darius.

  She was poised on the periphery of a vision, gazing down at a bloody massacre. Men, women and children were lying motionless in pools of their own blood. The boy--Darius--knelt over one of the children. A little girl. Long black hair formed an inky river around her face and shoulders, blending with the blood dripping from her neck. She wore a sapphire-colored dress that was bunched around her waist. Her eyes were closed, but there was a promise of beauty in every line of her softly rounded features.

  Gently Darius fitted the hem of the dress around her ankles, covering her exposed flesh. He remained kneeling and gazed up to the crystal dome. He slammed a fist into the dirt and howled, the sound more animal than human, more tortured than any child should ever have to endure.

  Grace wanted to sob. She found herself reaching out, hoping to wrap the boy in her arms. But even as she moved, she was whisked back to reality. Dari
us still hovered above her.

  "What did you do to me?" she cried.

  He didn't answer right away. His eyes were closed, as if he were lost in a vision of his own. When he finally opened his eyelids, he said, "I have bound us together." He looked smug. "For one day, you must remain in my presence. There will be no more escaping."

  "That isn't possible."

  "Isn't it? Can you not speak my language? Did I not travel here--Gracie Lacie?" he added softly.

  She gasped. "How do you know that name?"

  "Your father called you that."

  "Yes, but how do you know?"

  "I saw inside your mind," he said simply. He pushed to his feet, and she scooted backward to the edge of the couch. "Go to your room and dress," he said. "Wear something that covers you from neck to toe. We have much to discuss and not a lot of time."

  "I'm not moving."

  His gaze slitted. "Then I will change you myself."

  With that threat ringing in her ears, Grace jumped up and scurried around him. When she reached her bedroom, she quickly shut and locked the door, then raced to the nearest window. She unlatched the fastener, raised the glass and attempted to throw one leg over.

  An invisible wall stopped any movement outside.

  Nearly screeching with frustration, she kicked and pounded at the wall but couldn't break past it. Finally, panting, she gave up. How dare Darius do this! she seethed. What had he said? A binding spell. How dare he cast a binding spell, locking her within his grasp.

  A hard knock sounded at her door. "You have five minutes to dress, and then I am coming in."

  He'd do it, too, she thought. Even if he had to kick in the door. Even if he had to take the apartment building apart brick by brick. With a humorless chuckle, she leaned against the ledge and rested her head on the wooden frame.

  How had such a lost little boy grown into such an uncompromising man?

  She didn't want to believe those flashes of his life were real, but he'd known her father's nickname for her. And she hadn't shared that information with anyone. Darius's childhood, those things she'd seen, had happened. She didn't like knowing he'd once had a family. She didn't like knowing about the pain he had endured at their deaths. Knowing made her long to comfort him, to protect him. To stay with him.