Fury of Denial: Dragonfury Series SCOTLAND Book 3

by Coreene Callahan

  Instinct guiding her, she rubbed her cheek against his arm. “What happened, Wallaig? Did you stay out too long and get burned?”

  He stopped mid-stride. His chin dipped a moment before his brows furrowed behind his wraparounds. One second ticked into more as she stood unmoving, wanting to give him space, needing him to speak. She didn’t push him for an answer. Amantha waited instead, heart thumping, worry for him rising, so desperate to ease his pain she ached on the inside. A strange reaction, one she didn’t understand. Couldn’t begin to explain either. What she felt for him—his odd hold on her—bordered on insanity. He was half dragon, a man who shifted forms at will, a completely different species. And yet, as she held her breath, praying he would open up and tell her what was wrong, she realized he didn’t scare her.

  Wallaig would never hurt her.

  He’d proven it over and over tonight.

  “If you don’t want to tell me,” she said. “I’ll understand. It’s just—”

  “One of my brothers-in-arms betrayed our pack and I got ambushed. I was injured in the fight and woke up in a field north of Aberdeen.” A muscle twitched along his jaw as he took off his sunglasses and turned to face her. “I didn’t make it home in time.”

  Raising his lashes, he met her gaze for the first time.

  Amantha’s breath hitched. Merde de dieu. He was blind, his irises so badly scarred each one flashed white in the dim light. Empathy hit her like a hurricane, ripping her out by the roots. Unmoored, unable to help herself, she reached up to touch his face. Her fingertips brushed over his cheekbones just below his eyes. Tense beneath her hands, he allowed the caress. Needing to ease his despair, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his eyelid—first one, then the other, trying to kiss away the pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered against his skin. “It isn’t fair.”

  “Fairness doesn’t count for much in my world,” he murmured, holding still as she kissed him again. “Donnae feel sorry for me, lass. I’m not completely blind. I see in my own way.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him how.

  “Come, kazlita.” With a gentle tug, Wallaig got her moving, then walked toward the stairs at the base of the afterhouse. “Dawn will arrive any minute. We need to get inside.”

  Towing her behind him, he took the steps two at a time. Feet banging on steel treads, Amantha kept pace, staying right behind him. But as Wallaig reached the landing, pulled the heavy door open and guided her inside, she faltered. She had so many questions. And not nearly enough answers. Which meant time to put the screws to Wallaig and find out exactly what being with him entailed…before she got in so deep she couldn’t get out.

  Eleven

  Navigating a narrow corridor, Wallaig glanced at the plaque on each door until he came to one that read CAPTAIN in big bold letters. The cabin he searched for wouldn’t be far now. Human VIPs expected the best, liked to be pampered, so…aye. The corporate suite aboard the ship must be close. Maybe around the bend, in the next corridor. Stood to reason. No way would a spoiled executive consent to being placed on a lower level next to the crew.

  A harsh conclusion to draw maybe, but…

  He shrugged. He didn’t care. Human males were a mystery he held no interest in solving. The female trailing him, however, was a whole other matter. He wanted to know Amantha in every way—as a friend and lover, as a male in thrall to his mate. The realization made him huff in amusement. Hell, cross enthralled off the list. He was already enchanted, so attuned to her he sensed her thoughts, felt her breath and knew without looking she still shivered from the cold.

  Biting down on a curse, Wallaig picked up the pace. He needed to get her out of her clothes. Wet and cold didn’t go well together. She was already catching a chill and…goddamn it. He should’ve found a better way to evade the enemy. What that escape route would’ve been, he didn’t know. Diving into the harbor had been both the best and most expedient way of losing the bastards, but he hated that his female suffered. Lacing her chilled fingers through his, he turned down another hallway. She lost her footing and bumped into his back. His chest went tight as the level of her exhaustion registered. His fault…all his fault, her fatigue one hundred percent his doing. If only he had—

  “How much further, Wallaig?” Amantha asked, teeth chattering.

  Up ahead, he spied the label next to a door: EXECUTIVE SUITE. He exhaled in relief. Thank God. About time he had some good news to give her. “Just there, kazlita. We’ll be inside in a moment.”

  With a pronounced shiver, she nodded.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to his chest, sharing his heat as he stopped in front of the door. He disengaged the lock with a thought. Metal scraped against metal. The tumblers turned. With a flick of the handle, he shoved the door open, picked up Amantha, and cradling her in his arms, strode inside. A quick glance gave him the layout. Sitting area with a couch and chairs to his left fronted by large windows. He murmured, issuing a command. The curtains closed, moving around steel tracks, blocking out the glow of sunlight on the horizon, plunging the suite into darkness. Ignoring the queen size bed up against one wall, he moved toward what he assumed to be the ensuite bath.

  He crossed the threshold. Large shower with fancy green and white tile. Separate tub on the opposite side of the room. Double sinks in a marble countertop. Wallaig grunted. Nice set-up, and the perfect place to drive the chill from Amantha’s bones.

  Setting her down, he unzipped her coat and stripped it off her. He threw the wet mess into the corner and crouched at her feet. As he unlaced her boots, he turned on the shower with his mind. Water rushed from the shower head, splattering across ceramic tile.

  Amantha flinched. “Did you do that?”

  “Aye,” he said, tossing her Sorels alongside her jacket.

  “How?”

  “Magic, lass. Another of those perks you like so much.”

  “P-pretty c-cool,” she said, sounding half frozen.

  “It has its moments.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said with a huff, trying to laugh.

  She didn’t quite make it. Amantha was too cold to pull off levity but shite, he admired her spirit. His mouth curved. Goddess, she was beautiful, so smart and strong. Everything he hadn’t known he needed and couldn’t believe he’d found. Such a strange turn of events. A bundle of letters had brought him to her door, and as he waited for the water to warm, the near miss made him frown. If not for his insubordination—disobeying a direct order from his commander—he wouldn’t be here. Would never have met her. Wouldn’t be touching her now, never mind seeing to her needs.

  The realization tightened his chest.

  He might not know Amantha well yet, but already he longed for a future with her. Wanted to take her to bed each morning and wake in her arms every afternoon. Absolute acceptance. Real connection. A female to share his life, a mate whom he could love and be loved by in return.

  Yesterday, it had been a pipedream. Nothing but smoke and mirrors, the stuff of myths. But as he knelt at her feet, his dream took shape and form, placing her at the center of it.

  “Amantha,” he murmured, his tone so reverent his heart panged and longing took hold. Skimming his hands up her legs, he gripped her hips and hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her pyjamas. “Fair warning, lass…I’m going to strip you down now.”

  “What?”

  “You need to get out of your wet pyjamas.”

  “But I don’t have anything on underneath,” she said with a squeak.

  “Perfect.” Amused by her modesty, he dragged the pants down her legs. Soft skin grazed his palms as the flannel bottoms fell, leaving her bare from the waist down.

  “Wallaig!”

  Entranced by the sight and feel of her, he growled. Unable to stop himself, he nipped the top of her knee, then dragged his mouth along the length of her thigh. She made a soft sound of surprise. He jumped to her belly, pressing his lips against her skin.

  Her br
eath hitched. A quiver shook her, this one not driven by the cold. She whispered his name. Her hand touched his head, clever fingers delving into his hair as she welcomed his attention.

  “Take your t-shirt off, lass. The water’s ready.” Ghosting left, he licked over her hipbone.

  She gasped, the sound full of delight.

  Wallaig stood and, grabbing the cotton hem of her tee, dragged it over her head.

  As she sucked in a breath, he shucked his clothes, tossed them in his mental vault and…oh, aye. Skin on skin. Breast to chest. His erection pressed to the softness of her belly. Oh, so good. The absolute best way to start the day. Wallaig groaned, fighting for control as he cupped her bottom and moved toward the shower. The door opened upon command. He crossed the threshold, enclosing Amantha in the stall with him. The glass slider closed. Warm steam billowed up, surrounding him, warming his mate. Taking her with him, he stepped beneath the steady stream of hot water.

  She sighed in relief.

  The gorgeous sound wound him tighter.

  Brushing wet hair away from her face, he kissed her again. His female met and matched him, lifting her chin, opening her mouth, asking him for more. He should say no. A smart male would keep it light, give her time to get to know him, instead of giving into desire. But as Amantha cupped the back of his head and deepened the kiss, Wallaig knew he was lost.

  He needed her.

  She wanted him.

  Fuck too fast, too soon. He would take what she offered, give her explosive pleasure in return, and hope like hell she didn’t regret it when she woke in his arms.

  Twelve

  He tasted so good, like an aphrodisiac dipped in chocolate. Sweet. Addictive. Better than anything she’d ever taken out of the oven. A helluva lot hotter too.

  Steam rising around her, she stood on tiptoe and tried to get closer, wanting to absorb Wallaig into her skin. The shower head sputtered. Warm water washed over her and splashed on to him as she pressed her breasts to his chest. He growled in approval and big hands roaming, caressed the sensitive crease where the top of her thigh met her bottom. Pleasure coursed through her and…mercy, he was hot. All hard muscles and busy hands.

  He took her mouth like he owned her, sharing his taste, delighting her with his possession. With a hum, Amantha kissed him back and sent her own hands wandering. She skimmed over his shoulders, then stroked along his biceps. So strong. So gorgeous with his messy auburn hair and the stubble on his angular face. She loved the feel of it—the brush of his beard against her lips as he shifted against her.

  Gentling the kiss, he retreated. Not a lot. Hardly any distance at all, just enough to cup her breast. His hand engulfed her. Heat hit her like a sledgehammer, arching her spine, pushing her into his palm, forcing a plea from her throat.

  Wallaig didn’t deny her. He explored her instead, adjusting the pressure, making delight danced along her spine. Gasping, she tried to catch her breath. He refused to let her, tangling their tongues, taking control until she surrendered. His murmured “good lass” was her reward. She shuddered in his arms. Closer…she needed him closer. Wanted him so deep inside her, she forgot where he ended and she began and—

  He flicked her nipple, rolling the sensitive nub between her fingers.

  Amantha cried out and arched her back, wanting more, needing less and…God, she didn’t know anymore. His scent caused her head to spin. His taste made her crave him more and…

  What the hell was happening to her? She’d gone from cold to hot in an instant. Was so needy impatience grabbed the wheel, drove her straight into desire, then ran over common sense. She heard the crash. Felt the jolt. Heard mental barriers buckle as her mind gave way to her long-neglected libido.

  Not the greatest plan in the history of womankind.

  Sleeping with a man on a first date wasn’t the best idea. Caution always served a girl well. But as Wallaig caressed her, learning her body, sensitizing her skin, Amantha refused to play it safe. Not today. She yearned to be wild, if only for a little while. For once, she didn’t care what happened in the aftermath. Tomorrow would take care of itself. Right now, she needed Wallaig to take care of her. Longed for what his touch promised—the fast burn of frenzied bliss.

  Fisting her hands in his hair, she hopped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. The quick shift took him by surprise. He cursed. She wiggled, adjusting their fit, pressing her core against his erection and—

  Holy Moses. “Do that again.”

  “Amantha, hold on a—”

  Buried in bliss, she rolled her hips. Slick with need, she slid against him, bucking with every tiny jolt of pleasure. God, she was close. So close. He’d hardly touched her, and she was almost there, right on the edge, about to go over. Locking her ankles at his back, she upped the pace, reaching for the pinnacle.

  With a snarl, Wallaig grabbed her hips. Calloused fingers on her bottom, he broke her rhythm. “Bloody hell, Amantha. Slow down.”

  “No,” she gasped, flexing her thighs, fighting his control.

  “You’re rushing it, lass.”

  “I know, but I just…” She moaned, arching in pleasure as he turned and pressed her back to the shower wall. “I can’t help it. I’m so close. I need more.”

  Sharp teeth nipped her pulse point. “You get what I give you.”

  “Then give me everything, Wallaig.” Breathing hard, she squirmed, desperate for relief. “Pleeease.”

  “Fuck. I thought to be gentle with you the first time.”

  “Next time,” she whispered, her orgasm glimmering just out of reach. “Next time.”

  “Deal, but first…” Grabbing her foot, he unlocked her ankles from the base of his spine. “You’re going to give me a taste.”

  Delivered on a growl, his words sounded ominous. His actions backed up the treat as he flattened his palm on her breastbone, immobilizing her against the wall, then slid down her body. He paid homage along the way—nipping the tip of her breast, planting kisses on her belly, stroking over the curve of her bottom—before kneeling at her feet. Hooking her legs over his shoulders, he spread her thighs wide, opening her to his touch.

  Hot breath rushed over her core.

  His tongue lashed her, licking into her folds. Back pressed to the wall, imprisoned by the position, Amantha keened as ecstasy pulsed through her. She grew slicker. Wallaig groaned and delved deeper, leaving no part of her untouched. No part of her untasted. Over and over. Again and again. He took what he wanted, stopping to suck on her clitoris, pushing her so high she begged for the pleasure.

  He brought his fingers into play. One thrust deep. A second joined the first, stroking against a sensitive spot deep inside her.

  She tightened around him.

  He rubbed harder.

  Amantha moaned. “Wallaig.”

  “Such a good lass.” Tugging at her folds with his teeth, he played, circling her nub with the tip of his tongue. Another thrust. Two more, harder than the last. Monstrous pressure coiled inside her. Her hips jerked. “Aye, just right. You’re perfect, kazlita. Everything I’ve always wanted.”

  “Oh, please, now. I need it now.”

  With a hum, he twisted his fingers. “Come, Amantha. Let me hear you scream.”

  His guttural command unleashed a torrent inside her. White light flashed behind her closed eyelids. The orgasm dragged her up and over, ripping her from the real world. With a high-pitched wail, she hurdled into the next. Here and now ceased to exist. Nothing mattered but Wallaig. The sound of his voice inside her head. His hot mouth against her skin. The stroke of his fingers and lash of his tongue.

  Using his teeth, he nipped her gently.

  She came again, lost to ecstasy, anchored by nothing but the hard hands holding her up. She heard him groan. Felt him shift, then stand. Amantha whispered his name. He accepted her invitation and, supporting her in his arms, wrapped her legs around him. Surrounded by him, she offered him her lips. He invaded her mouth. Deep. Fast. Brutal. A kiss of a conqueror, a man bent o
n possession as he set himself against her and pushed inside. Her muscles stretched. She panted in alarm. He didn’t give her time to adjust. Showing no mercy, he pressed in, making her take him.

  Bending her knee, he pushed her leg up and out, opening her wider. His hips shifted. He slid deeper and—

  Another round of bliss blasted through her.

  She pulsed around him.

  Baring his teeth, Wallaig didn’t stop. He took her hard instead. Advance and retreat. His hardness claiming her softness. Letting her know she belonged to him as he made love to her against the shower wall, dragging her toward the ledge until she fell into the abyss, drunk on pleasure.

  Thirteen

  Mist rolled along the ground and over the ruins as Grizgunn flew overhead. A thin line of sunlight burned on the horizon, reaching out to touch jagged cliffs. His scales tingled in warning. He needed to take cover. In the next ten minutes would be best. He could push it to fifteen if pressed for time, but what would be the point? He was already home. A hop, skip and jump away from entering his new lair.

  Angling his wings, he circled once, then set down between the ancient church and the crumbling edge of coastline. His dark blue claws curled into the peat moss. Seawater churned on the rocks below, roaring against the stone face, nature’s way of throwing a tantrum. The show of temper epitomized his mood—pissed off with an unholy need to punch something.

  With a snarl, he bared his fangs and folded his wings. Goddamn the Scot. The red-scaled warrior had been slippery as an eel, injuring two of his crew before slithering into the city, disappearing like a ghost in the night. His brows furrowed. The male’s proficiency at hiding presented a problem. One he needed to solve before sunset. Otherwise, he wouldn’t get another shot at the warrior. The whoreson would slip beneath his radar—again—and he’d never get his claws on him…or the high-energy female he protected.