by Tessa Dawn
“At least give him that. Give me that,” she continued. “And you’re right: I don’t ever want to see that sapphire dragon god again, let alone actually speak to him. But I’m speaking to you—I’m asking you—let me go in and see Axe. I get where you’re coming from, I really do. But in the end, it’s not your call to make.” She stared pointedly at his broad, powerful shoulders and his hard, unmovable chest. “Don’t lord your power over me, Nakai. It’s not fair. Convince me with your argument, if you can, but don’t control me with your strength.”
At this, Nakai sucked in a thin gulp of air. “Amber…”
“Let me go in.”
“I don’t think he’s even coherent.”
“I know; that’s okay.”
“Why?” he whispered. “Why is this so important?”
Much to her surprise, Amber curled inward. She pressed her elbows together, tucked them into her stomach, and let her head fall down, onto her fists. She was fighting back tears, and she couldn’t explain them. She only knew that every shout, every whimper, every keening moan was pulling at her heart like Axe had looped fish-hooks through the organ, and he was tugging on the line.
It was crazy.
It made no damn sense.
And she didn’t understand the what, why, or how of it…
She only knew that, any moment, if the male cried out again, those strings were going to jerk too hard and pull her heart right out of her chest. The truth of the matter was simple and shameful: Amber could barely breathe, and getting into that room was purely selfish.
“Nakai, I can’t breathe.” Alas, she had told him the truth.
Nakai grasped Amber’s wrists and gently pulled them away from her face, and then he studied her features like he was trying to solve an ancient mystery, like he had never seen a woman before. After several uncomfortable seconds had passed, he brushed her cheek with his thumb, twisted his torso, and knocked on the door. “Amber’s coming in,” he barked through the panel, and then he reached for the handle, cranked it downward, and shoved the door open, about twelve or so inches. He placed his hand on the small of her back and bent to speak in her ear. “I don’t know if the dragyri did it on purpose or what, but Ghost didn’t touch Axe’s face—or his hands. Try to keep your eyes straight ahead, locked on his eyes or his features if you can. If you have to touch him, take his hand.”
Amber could hardly believe it.
Just like that, Nakai had given in, and she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Steeling her resolve and pulling back her shoulders, she raised her chin and slowly padded into the apartment.
Nakai had warned her to keep her eyes focused, straight ahead.
And Amber had thought she could do it.
But the sight that greeted her when she crossed the suite toward the open master bedroom had done more than steal her breath—it had shaken Amber Carpenter to her core.
Someone had stripped the bed of linens and laid two or three absorbent mattress pads in their place. They had strewn a sheet of heavy plastic over the pads, and Axe was lying, naked, on the top of the plastic sheet. He had underwear on, and he was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages from his calves to his thighs, from his hips to his chest: both arms, both legs, and his stomach.
Levi was pacing like a restless tiger, back and forth in front of the iron-framed windows. Jace was puttering around in the kitchen, brewing something that smelled like broth, and Zane was planted in a chair beside the mattress, in the process of changing the bandages wrapped around Axe’s chest.
Amber bit her bottom lip and pressed forward, trying to keep her eyes on Axe’s face—on the unforgettable grimace of agony etched deep into all his features, and the utterly silent tears streaming down his tense, sunken cheeks.
She gasped.
Whether in surprise, shock, or horror…
It had never occurred to her that such a powerful warrior could cry.
And as she drew closer to the bed and the blood-soaked wrappings, she would’ve had to have been blind—again—to miss the fact that there were pieces—whole visible chunks of flesh—simply missing from the dragyri’s body: planes, valleys, unnatural divots where sinew and muscle should have been. And Axe’s breathing was labored to say the least. His sternum was broken, and so were his ribs. So was his clavicle, his femur, his tibia, and his hip. Those bones that were not protruding or visibly collapsed were twisted at an unnatural angle, making his once-powerful, magnificent frame look more like a gory pretzel, twisted beyond recognition.
Amber’s stomach lurched, and she almost heaved.
She stopped walking, held out both palms, and struggled to take a deep breath.
Zane glanced up in silence, his hands still buried in Axe’s chest. “Amber.” Just one word, maybe a greeting, maybe just an acknowledgment of the fact she was there.
And just what the hell had she thought she could do?
Nakai had been right all along.
Axe’s bewitching eyes opened; he turned his head in her direction and groaned.
The motion must have been too much for the dragyri because his abdomen spasmed. Zane leaned forward and rolled him over, onto his side. and Axe started to puke his guts out—at least what was left of them—into a tray propped beside his head. After…during…every heave, he shouted in agony as his broken muscles contracted and released.
Oh, gods of the Pantheon, what had she done…
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to no one in particular, and then she turned on her heel to run out of the room.
Three steps.
Maybe four.
And she slid to a halt…
Braced her hands on her knees and caught her breath.
Curling her lips around her teeth and biting down for courage, she drew in three deep breaths and stood up straight. And then she strolled into the kitchen, wet a dish cloth beneath the faucet, and filled the towel with ice. Ignoring the Dragyr who were watching her like circling vultures, she paced to the edge of the bed, dropped down onto her knees, and pressed the ice to the back of Axe’s neck. “Shh,” she crooned to him softly. “I’m right here, Axe. Breathe, just breathe…in and out.” She didn’t know how she did it, but she slowed her heartbeat to match Axeviathon’s and tried gallantly to breathe with him…for him. “In and out—I know it’s hard, but you’re doing good.”
His chest stopped quivering, and he finally stopped retching.
She grasped the edge of the tray, slid it aside, and glanced over her shoulder at Jace. “Will you empty this, please?” She didn’t wait for the male to reply. She turned to Zane and narrowed her brows. “Can you roll him back over?” she asked.
Zane nodded and turned his lair mate, as gently as possible, back into a supine position.
Axe grunted in pain.
“Look at me,” Amber told him. “Right here.” She tapped her cheeks beneath her lower eyelids.
His eyes locked with hers, and she forced a tender smile. Then she cupped his cheekbones in her hands and began to massage his temples. Every ten or fifteen seconds, she slid one hand toward the back of his head, caressed his damp, bloodstained hair, and massaged his scalp in soothing, gentle circles.
Slowly, his eyes fell shut, though he still grimaced, grunted, and winced.
“Shh,” Amber continued, pouring all her concentration into the tips of her fingers, while envisioning a white healing light streaming into him. And then, as if out of nowhere, she was suddenly transported to another place, another time, and another broken soul, equally wracked with agony:
Amber was holding, caressing, and singing to an eighteen-month-old girl.
A girl who was hungry, dehydrated, and covered in blisters.
She was humming a lullaby to her foster sister, Tina.
And as the melody returned, and her compassion awakened, she knew that something intrinsic had happened when Axe had healed her trauma bonds—she knew because she hadn’t felt anything like this in a decade.
She hadn’t felt sympathy…o
r tenderness…or love?
She blinked the thought away—she was confusing Axe with Tina.
Yet, in that instant—that transcendent, singular moment—as the past and the present blended as one, Amber knew one thing for certain: There was nothing she wouldn’t do to stop Axe’s suffering.
Absolutely nothing.
She had entered that convenience store, so many years ago, for Tina.
And even knowing all that would come to pass, she would enter it again—for Axe—if it would take away his agony.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LATER THAT MORNING ~ 9AM
Axe stared up at the roaring waterfall, even as he reveled in the feel of his strong, vibrant, perfect body. He had never been more aware of his power and never more grateful to be Dragyr. Not only had the emerald discus assisted Zanaikeyros in Axe’s healing, but Axe had come out of the ordeal stronger, more powerful, feeling more alive.
And now, all he wanted to do was reconnect with Amber, the golden-haired beauty who had kneeled by his bed, breathed for the dragyri when he couldn’t catch his breath, and done all she could to nurse him back to health.
Her kindness had truly surprised him.
And if truth be told, Axe was pretty sure it had surprised her too.
“So, this is the famous waterfall…” Amber’s soft, almost lyrical voice floating on a breeze behind him. Good—she had seen his note, the one Axe had placed on her nightstand, and she had come to meet him as he had hoped and asked.
Axe turned around and held out his hand. “Dragyra, come closer.” He waved her forward.
Amber shook her head and planted her heels in a soft mound of grass.
Ah, so now she was feeling skittish...
In the light of day, she was likely still planning to go…
To still meet with Tony and try to escape.
Following the healing—the expert application of Zane’s silver-blue fire and the time it had taken for Axe to regenerate—the two dragyri lair mates had spoken, albeit briefly: yes, to the concert, to Jordan meeting Macy; yes, to taking Amber along if she asked; and no, to involving the other Dragyr—Axe’s extended lair mates. Axe planned to handle Tony alone. He was itching for the chance to test his new, improved body.
He was yearning to release his claws, tunnel through the human’s imploding chest, and retrieve Tony’s still-beating heart in his hand. He wanted the merciless human male to see his own pulsing organ dripping blood in front of him as his life-force leaked onto the ground.
“After all we shared this morning,” Axe said to Amber, “you’re still afraid of me, still unsure of our bond?”
Amber wrung her hands together and shifted nervously in place. “Axe, I…I don’t know what to say. Last night, I mean, early this morning, that was different, I guess. You needed my support.”
Axe smiled wanly and nodded his head. “Yeah, there’s no denying that, Amber girl. But it seems to me, you needed me too: to be close to me, beside me, to see me through the whole ordeal.”
She shivered and turned her attention to the waterfall: stream after glorious stream of frothing, crystal water rushing out of several rocky crevices at once, flanked by autumn-colored trees that never changed their colors, growing proudly…impossibly…out of the rocks. And the constant ambient roar was like a natural lullaby, nature’s soothing song, serenading the Sapphire Lair. “It’s beautiful,” she said, cleverly changing the subject.
“Yes, it is,” Axe replied, narrowing his gaze on his dragyra’s stunning eyes and changing the subject right back. “You’re beautiful, and your kindness, your need…last night…was beautiful as well.”
Her dark amber gaze met his, and she paled. “Axe, I don’t…I don’t—”
“You don’t what?” he interrupted. “If anyone should feel uneasy…or embarrassed…a little bit off in this moment, it’s me, don’t you think?”
She smiled then, and the visage was positively breathtaking. “Not embarrassed…no. You had no control over what happened to you.” She cast her eyes toward the ground and gently cleared her throat. “Axe, who is Ghost?”
So, she was changing the subject again…
And now, it was Axe’s turn to shudder.
Shit, just shit.
That was one subject Axe would rather avoid; it might be years—hell, decades—before he could speak that name again, look that brutal Genesis bastard in the eyes. The freakin’ dragyri had bathed in Axe’s blood… “Why do you ask?” he finally murmured. It was the best he could do.
Amber shrugged, and the lift and fall of her exquisitely narrow shoulders, her deep-set collarbone, her long, graceful neck drew Axe’s eyes—and his appreciation—like a moth to a flame.
“It was just something Nakai said,” she replied. “He said he didn’t know if Ghost did it on purpose, or not, but that he didn’t damage your face or your hands.” She quickly equivocated: “I dunno, that just kind of struck me. I don’t know if you refer to the dragon lords as ghosts—or what they become when they’re violent and punitive—but if I wanted to hurt someone, really degrade or humiliate them, I think I would disfigure their face.” She grimaced and shook her head in apology. “Don’t get me wrong: I don’t have those kinds of violent tendencies.” She punctuated the words with an uncomfortable chuckle. “And I’m not making light of what this dragon god did, but it’s just…from everything I’ve ever read in newspapers or seen in documentaries, when someone attacks another person out of rage, out of deep-seated hatred, they always slash or ruin their face.” She absently brushed her hand through her hair—she was feeling nervous, or perhaps a bit out of line. “And another thing: At least when it comes to humans, we communicate with all five senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. If we don’t have a voice—or even when we do—we still connect with others through those perceptions.” She sighed in exasperation, as if she felt she wasn’t making any sense. “I dunno; I guess I’m just saying that it struck me too that the dragon did so much damage, yet left all five of your senses intact, even down to not touching your hands. To me, if I didn’t know better, I would think it was some sort of gesture of mercy, like he wanted to hurt you, but not as bad as he could. He wanted to injure you, but he went out of his way not to insult or humiliate you.”
Axe took a step back.
For a moment, just a fleeting second, he felt like he was naked and exposed, yet again, in front of his dragyra, and he was a bit taken aback by the feeling as well as Amber’s insight.
What the actual fuck…
She couldn’t be right, could she?
Had Ghostaniaz actually held back in the only way he could?
The thought left him mystified and more than a little confused, but he didn’t want to go there—not now. His time with Amber was way too precious. They only had five more days before Axe had to take her to the temple, and based upon what was about to go down—the concert, the field, Axe ending Tony for good—the next twenty-four hours might be wasted as well. “Ghost,” he breathed the word on a shaky inhale, “is the Genesis Son of Lord Dragos, the darkest of the seven dragon lords. The long and short of it: Lord Dragos owed Lord Ethyron a favor, and Ghost is not known for being gentle or compassionate, so Lord Ethyron used the dragyri to dole out the torture.” There was nothing else Axe wanted to say, so he let the words linger in the ambiance of the waterfall.
Amber nodded. “I see.” She stood there in silence for a couple of seconds before adding, “So, I guess that you and Ghost are friends then? He really didn’t want to do it.” She made the last sentence a statement, not a question, and once again, Axe was perplexed.
Maybe looking from the outside in, Amber was able to see something Axe couldn’t.
He wasn’t sure that anyone considered Ghost Dragos a friend, but then, there it was—the male had managed to take seven pounds of flesh, break seven critical bones, and extract seven pints of blood without ever touching Axe’s face or hands, without dulling even one of his five senses.
Hmm.
Fodder for another day.
“Come here, sweet angel,” Axe entreated once again, extending his hand. She smiled this time, but she still didn’t budge—so Axe crossed the grassy ridge and went to her. “We’re past this, pretty lady,” he rasped. “All this stranger shit.” He placed two fingers over her heart. “I think I’ve seen you, and you’ve seen me.” She started to back away, and he hooked his arm around her waist, drawing her into his body—to hell with it! “Thank you for what you did.” He pressed a tender kiss against the base of her throat.
She shuddered and turned her head to the side, tucking in her chin.
“Nah,” he murmured. “We’re not going back there. We’ve come too far for that bullshit.” He grasped her chin lightly and turned her toward him, and then he bent his head and kissed her lightly. He drew back, just a smidgeon, and hovered. “Thank you for what you did, Amber girl,” he repeated. And this time, he brushed his bottom lip against her top lip, drew it into his mouth and suckled it, then repeated the ministration with her full bottom lip, also tracing the same with his tongue.
He moaned.
And she sighed, her breath mingling with his.
And that was all the encouragement Axe needed. He drew her in closer, pressed his body against hers, and tunneled his hands in her hair. And then he kissed his dragyra until she was breathless.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
FRIDAY NIGHT
“Are you ready, my love?” Zane Saphyrius spoke the words out loud, but their deeper meaning was implied: Are you ready for an evening with Macy, the country-western concert, and all the drama about to go down with Amber…and possibly Axe?
As always, Zane’s mate looked ravishing: Jordan was wearing a stylish, form-fitting dress that fell just above her knees, with a low-cut zipper-detail at the neckline. Yeah, to his way of thinking, it exposed a little too much cleavage—and the way all those thick auburn waves fell beyond her shoulders, accentuating the hazel-eyed beauty’s collarbone? He would’ve preferred a plain brown gunnysack, but his dragyra had a mind of her own, a brilliant mind at that, and it was one of the many reasons he adored her.