Pia Saves the Day

by Thea Harrison

  Their bedroom lay in shadows. The only illumination came from the moonlight shining in through the windows, and from her.

  The pearly luminescence shone from every inch of her. It had been a part of her since birth. It served no purpose. Like the color of her hair, or her eyes, it simply was. Often she had been exasperated with it, and sometimes fearful for what it gave away about her nature.

  It was the most dangerous fact of her existence, the most likely thing to betray her. She could never let down her guard or relax her cloaking spell, unless she was absolutely sure she was in a private, safe place.

  All of that melted away in the face of the wonder in Dragos’s expression. With one hand, he touched the swelling curve of her breast, circling the pink jut of her nipple with the tips of his callused fingers.

  With the other hand, he stroked the curve of her slender waist and the swell of her hip. The golden curls at the juncture of her thighs grew damp with the full, sharp ache of desire.

  She never realized how empty she was until she was with him. Then the emptiness pierced her, and he was the only one who could ease the ache.

  “You’re the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.” His words were barely audible.

  Grasping his large, hard penis in one glowing hand, she stroked his length and whispered, “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen too.”

  His powerful frame was bound with heavy muscles. He was a dark, shadowy figure in the moonlit room, the bulk of his body defined by even darker shadows—the silken black hair sprinkled across his broad chest and arrowing down to his groin, the ripple of his abdominals and biceps as he crawled over her, the long indentation of flesh at his hips.

  He didn’t stop until he caged her with his body, pausing on his hands and knees over her. It was a dominant, possessive posture, and she loved it. Running her hands hungrily over him, she touched his flat, male nipples and petted the sprinkle of hair on his chest, following the path it made down to his groin.

  His heavy, thick erection hung down to her, and underneath it, his sac had drawn tight. She circled the base of his penis and stroked his testicles, intending to slide down the bed between his legs and take him in her mouth, but he had other plans.

  Taking her by the chin, he tilted her face up to his, making her look at him as he parted her legs and settled between them. His gaze burned with incandescence.

  He said softly, “You are mine. You are always going to be mine. It doesn’t matter what came before, the only thing that matters is what is now and going forward. There will never be anyone else for you. Only me. Me.”

  A part of her marveled at the strange emphasis he put on those words, but it was overwhelmed by the huge tide of other feelings. Gladness, fierce joy and gratitude were foremost among them.

  “Of course I am. I always have been, I always will be.”

  Until death might call an end to their lives, but even then, death couldn’t part them. They were Wyr, mated for life.

  One or the other of them might linger to finish their affairs. When she thought Dragos might be gone, she had made that commitment, silently, to Liam. She cherished the fact that her mother had done that for her before leaving this earth, and she would do no less for her son.

  But in the end, she would always orbit around Dragos, always look for him, always reach for him. Whatever bridge he crossed, whatever journey he might make, she would always follow.

  His rough-hewn features and body clenched tight, as he focused on some internal landscape only he could see. Sprawling over her, he burrowed his face into her neck and sought her skin with his mouth, while he reached between her legs to finger the plump, delicate folds of her sex.

  He sucked, licked, bit at her, his sharp teeth causing a light, erotic sting. “This is mine,” he muttered into the curve of her breast before he suckled her nipple. “This, and this.”

  Gripping his shoulders, she jerked and shuddered under the sensual onslaught.

  “Yes,” she told him.

  Yes, and yes.

  Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against her breastbone. “What lies inside this body is mine.”

  He was claiming all of her.

  She lifted her head off the bed. “Dragos,” she said, even as he probed and stroked her slick, private flesh.

  He paused and tilted his head to look up at her. His brilliant gaze was jealous, secretive. For the love of all the gods, what on earth was going on in that convoluted mind of his?

  She so adored this difficult, arrogant man.

  In a strong, sure voice, she told him, “You are mine, too. You always will be. I’ll never give up or let go, no matter how many times you get bonked on the head, or how exasperating you become.”

  She could say some pretty sweet things too, when she put her mind to it.

  Satisfaction flashed across his face, along with triumph, and his reaction caught her attention, confusing her all over again. After all, it wasn’t as though she had made any secret of how she felt about him.

  She didn’t have time to puzzle over it for long. Holding her gaze deliberately, he penetrated her with two fingers. She was so ready for him he didn’t need to draw out any moisture.

  The sensation of his fingers gliding into her felt so good, so necessary, she braced her heels against the mattress and lifted her hips up to his touch.

  It caused him to growl underneath his breath. He fucked her with his fingers, intently watching every nuance of her expression. When the ball of his thumb came in contact with her clitoris, she shattered into a million pieces.

  Her eyes dampened. When she could talk again, she murmured, “I guess there were some other things you didn’t forget.”

  “It must be like riding a bicycle.” He hesitated with a frown. “Except I don’t think I ride bicycles.”

  At that, she burst out laughing and wrapped her arms around him. “No, darling, you don’t ride bicycles.”

  He lunged at her, a quick, predatory swoop, and captured her mouth. Kissing her so deeply, he pushed her into the mattress, while at the same time he gripped his penis and rubbed the thick, broad head against her fluted opening. She lost her laughter in anticipation.

  He pushed into her, and it was everything she knew and needed for it to be. Familiarity and recognition only made it sweeter and stronger, and she had room enough to ache for him that he had lost that deep, strong experience.

  Then that thought fled, as he filled her to the brim, not stopping until he had sunk all the way into her, to the root. His hips flexing at the bowl of her pelvis, he clenched his teeth and muttered, “I can’t get deep enough.”

  She knew that pained intensity. She had felt it so many times herself.

  There was only one way she knew to make it better. Putting her mouth to his ear, she whispered, “Try.”

  Growling, he started to move. With an instinct that went deeper than thought, she picked up his rhythm and matched it, lifting her hips for his thrusts.

  Hauling her up briefly, he angled one arm underneath her torso, his forearm sliding up between her shoulder blades as he sank his fist into her hair. With his other hand, he gripped her by the hip as he fucked her harder.

  So possessive. She embraced all of it, the slight awkwardness of the position, the tight grasp he had on her body.

  The tension was building again. Raking her fingernails down his back, she egged him on. “Harder.”

  He responded immediately, pistoning in deliberate thrusts. Their bodies dampened with sweat. This wasn’t sweet, slow lovemaking. It was fierce and desperate.

  Greedy, she was so greedy. She was frustrated she didn’t get a chance to climax again. He plunged ahead of her to the finish, arcing up with a gasp as he spurted into her.

  Letting go of her own need, she embraced him and focused on his pleasure. She felt every gorgeous pulse of his penis. Trying to make it last for him, she gripped him as tightly as she could with her inner muscles.

  He came to a halt, breathing ragg
edly. She stroked the back of his neck.

  His fingers loosened in her hair, and he came up onto his elbows. He looked agonized, desperate.

  He said roughly, “I’m not done.”

  She stared. Before she could respond, he hauled her up bodily and flipped her so that she came onto her hands and knees. Incredulously, she complied, arching her back and tilting her ass in primal invitation.

  Always when he penetrated her from behind, he felt bigger, and he seemed to get deeper. He entered her with a growl that vibrated down her spine. A nearly inaudible whine came out of her in response.

  Oh God, oh God. This was a miracle she didn’t even know to hope for.

  Pleasure and emotion rocketed through her body. It was her turn to clench fistfuls of the bedspread. His hands clamped down on to her hips, and as he fucked her, she buried her face in the material to muffle the sound of her sob.

  He was mating.

  Maybe he didn’t remember their life together, but he was mating with her.

  That was the last true coherent thought she had before the swell of her own mating frenzy took her over. Her climax came over her like a steamroller. She flung back her head, gasping at the intensity of it.

  Just when she thought the peak had passed, he wrapped an arm around her and found her clitoris with his fingers, and she exploded again. Clawing at his thigh, she urged him on.

  This time his thrusts sent her against the headboard. She tried to brace herself, but she wasn’t in control. Neither of them were. As he came again too, an animal sound wrenched out of him.

  Silence stole into the room, and stillness. It was a chance to catch her breath.

  But only for a moment.

  He came down over her, spooning her so that his chest pressed against her back. She could feel his heart pounding against her skin, a powerful, rapid force.

  Meanwhile, he remained planted deep inside of her, his erection as hard as ever.

  She knew this dance. They had been through it before.

  Dragos buried his face in her hair, as he whispered, “I’m still not done.”

  Chapter Nine

  He dreamed of being buried, lost in darkness.

  Beyond his grave, a splendid, graceful creature of shining, ivory light waited for him. She had delicate hooves and legs, and the single, slender horn on her forehead pierced him sweetly through the heart.

  Come back, she called. Come back to me.

  Yearning toward her, he struggled to free himself. Dust filled his nostrils, choking him. From an immeasurable distance across the starry night, Death, whose name was Azrael, turned to face him.

  Azrael whispered his name.

  Dragos was well acquainted with that old bastard. They were, after all, brothers. Azrael, also known as the Hunter, was a part of the dragon’s nature, as Dragos was a part of his.

  He said to Azrael, You will not have me.

  Azrael gave him a pale, elegant smile. At times Death could appear quite alluring. Green eyes glittering, he said, One day I might, brother. You are immortal, not Deathless, and nothing in this universe lasts forever.

  Opening his jaws wide, the dragon let out a furious roar, and Death vanished in a blast of heat and light.

  Dragos woke with a start.

  Sunlight poured through the large windows of the bedroom. Pia nestled against his side, her head resting on his arm. She was deeply asleep.

  Shaking off the dream, he lifted his head and let his gaze roam down her nude body. Her luminescent glow was not quite as apparent in the bright light of day. Instead, her skin retained a faint, pearly sheen. While the effect was subtle, it was still all too obviously inhuman.

  Her current position accentuated the hourglass shape of her body. She had marks on her skin, faint smudges of bruising and reddened scores of bite and scratch marks. She was already healing, and by midafternoon the marks would be gone completely.

  A more civilized man would care that he had marked her. Perhaps the other Dragos would have cared. He touched one fading bruise lightly with his finger. Being neither of those two men, and intensely possessive, he would be sorry to see them disappear.

  Then he regarded his own body. He was so much bigger than she, harder and more calloused, and yet he had marks on his skin too. As he shifted lazily against the sheets, the scratches she had made on his back reminded him of her own passionate response to him.

  Carefully, so as not to wake her, he leaned over her sleeping form and mouthed, “You are so very much mine.”

  He was a fierce creature at the mildest of times. Now, the intensity of his feelings for her shook even him. And so, she was still a fool to have allowed it, let alone to have welcomed it as she had.

  He eased her head off his arm and replaced it with a pillow. She never awakened. They had not stopped making love until well after dawn, and clearly he had worn her out.

  Slipping out of bed, he went to the bathroom to sluice off quickly in the shower. After a few moments of searching in his closet, he located faded, cutoff jean shorts that he slipped on. He didn’t bother with any other clothes, or with shoes. The summer day was already acquiring heat, and besides, they were alone on the estate.

  He left her to search for food in the kitchen. The refrigerator was well stocked with both carnivore and vegan dishes that could be consumed with a minimum of effort. Someone had planned well for them.

  Standing at the counter, he ate most of a roast chicken. Once the sharpest edge of his hunger had been satisfied, he went exploring.

  The office—the other Dragos’s office—drew him. He took his time discovering all the different components, glancing through file drawers, reading the first pages of contracts, studying building plans strewn all over a round, mahogany table. The construction site by the lake would be quite a compact complex when it was completed, combining both offices and living quarters.

  Without having to be told, he knew that nothing left out in plain view would be vitally important. Any sensitive materials were either locked in the recessed wall safe he found hidden behind a paneling, or password protected on his computer, or hidden in the inaccessible recesses of his mind.

  Raging against his lost memory was an exercise in futility. He clamped down on the emotion as he tried several combinations on the computer, yet failed to discover the right password.

  What would the other Dragos use as a password? He would not fall into the trap of using personal or obvious information.

  When another log-in attempt failed, his self-control slipped. Snarling, he swept everything off his desk and threw a stapler with such force it shot through a window.

  The glass shattered and fell out of the window frame, just as Pia walked around one edge of the doorway, talking on a cell phone.

  Stopping in midsentence, she came to an abrupt halt. Then she said into her phone, “I’ll have to call you back later. I just wanted to let you know we’ll need a few days here.”

  “I’ll arrange everything,” said the man on the other end of the call. “You concentrate on yourselves. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Graydon, the man’s name was.

  “Give Peanut all my love,” Pia said.

  All her love? Dragos’s rage acquired a new focus. Who was this Peanut?

  “I will,” Graydon promised. “This is fantastic news, honey. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Her face calm and movements unhurried, she turned off her cell phone. She had showered too, Dragos saw, and had dressed in a cheerful outfit of yellow shorts and a light summer top splashed with big, bright sunflowers. Her hair was still damp, and she wore pretty flip-flop sandals with tiny yellow flowers etched into leather straps.

  She looked like a happy creature of sunshine and light, while he was still seriously considering smashing the desktop computer to bits.

  “You love someone called Peanut,” he growled, his fists clenched. “Who the fuck has a name like Peanut?”

  She flinched. Somehow, he had managed to strike a nerve. Tucking her ph
one into her pocket, she said quietly, “That’s our son’s nickname. I started calling him that when he was just a little bundle of cells. You know, because for a while he was just the size of a peanut. Anyway, it stuck. His real name is Liam.”

  He sucked in a breath. Pivoting away from her, he stared sightlessly out the window he’d broken.

  She came up behind him and stroked his back. As soon as her fingers touched his bare skin, the last of his rage died. He bowed his head.

  “What happened?” she asked gently.

  He rubbed his face. “I can’t figure out his password.”

  She paused, and when she spoke next, her voice had gentled even further. “His password?”

  Tilting his head toward the sound of her voice, he realized what he had let slip.

  His emotions surged again, a powerful cocktail of anger and frustration. All at once he let it go.

  “Yes, his password,” he snapped. He shrugged away from her calming touch and rounded on her. “The other Dragos. The one who has a closet full of handmade suits upstairs. The one who reads contracts and negotiates treaties, and who debates the difference between Wolf and Viking appliances.” He gestured violently at the appliance manuals that had been resting on the desk, and now lay scattered across the floor.

  She bit her lip. It was not in laughter. She said softly, “You wanted to buy the best things for my kitchen.”

  The walls of the house closed in on him. Grabbing her hand, he snarled, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Moving rapidly, he dragged her out of the house. She didn’t try to stop him. Instead, she trotted willingly at his side. As soon as they reached the open air, he let go of her hand, shapeshifted into the dragon, scooped her into one paw and launched.

  Some flights are lazy, long spiraling glides through the air. This fight was a battle. His wings scything through the air, he flew as fast as he could back to the mountainside where he had rested the day before.

  The ledge by the stream was just as they had left it, with the pile of his gifts, her pack underneath the trees, and the stack of firewood and partially burnt wood in the fire ring.