by Tessa Dawn
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.
“Ready and excited,” she said with a wink, turning to smile at Amber.
Amber was a couple of inches shorter than Jordan, but she had more than made up for it with her spiked-heel leather boots, and that hip-hugging, dark red miniskirt with the contoured black blouse wasn’t exactly camouflage material. For a female who was planning to slip away and run, she couldn’t have dressed more inappropriately.
Ah, but then wasn’t that the genius behind the sexy outfit?
No reason to give Axe anything to suspect…
In fact, since nine o’clock that morning, and since Axe had been healed, he and his dragyra had moved about the lair in relative comfort if not comradery. Zane had noticed the fledgling couple in a corner, on more than one occasion, talking in hushed but amiable whispers. He had seen them eating alone at the bar in the central lair’s kitchen. And he had watched them retreat to Axe’s private lair for more privacy, Amber’s slender hand tucked into Axe’s meaty palm.
Zane didn’t think the couple had…well…consummated the burgeoning union, and it wasn’t because Zane was nosy or thinking about his lair mate’s private affairs. It was just that Zane was a dragyri male, a primordial, wild creature at his core, and all the Dragyr had a heightened sense of smell. Again, not something Zane couldn’t—or wouldn’t—ordinarily tamp down to afford his lair mates some privacy, but like the primitive creatures they were, the Dragyr had a tendency to mark their territory, and scent was a big piece of that picture. Purposeful or not, Axe would’ve left his…stamp…all over Amber. He couldn’t have helped it if he had tried.
“So, I just hold your hand, and there’s nothing else I need to do?” Amber’s soft, hesitant tone jolted Zane out of his musings. She was asking Jordan about the portal.
“That’s it,” Jordan said. Then she fixed her gaze on Zane. “Right? She holds my hand, I hold yours, and you take it from there?”
Zane flashed his mate a smile. “Yep,” he said, his shoulders falling back. “Hold on until we arrive at the concert, then let her go. That’s it; that’s all.” His pupils narrowed, and he switched to telepathic communication. Axe will be right beside us in a parallel portal; he’s wearing black jeans, his working boots, and a plain gray sleeveless muscle shirt: the dirty-blond in the dark, rounded Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. He’s going to hang back for the entire concert, blend in with the crowd, and keep an eye on Amber. So try not to get caught up in any outside drama—try to enjoy your night out with Macy. I know this is detracting from your plans quite a bit, but seriously, Jordan—Axe will be right behind you. If Amber tries to slip away, let her go. If she pulls that cell phone out of her purse, don’t say anything. Axe knows she has it, and he’s on top of it. When the concert is over, come back to the same exact spot I drop you off at. I will be there waiting, and the portal will be open. Take Macy’s hand, just like we talked about, and step into the portal entrance. We’ll transport her home before we head back to the Pantheon, and just a tap on her shoulder, as little mind control as possible, and Macy will be none the wiser. She’ll have no memory of seeing me or of the portal—she’ll believe she made it home in a taxi.
Jordan nodded. “You ready, Amber?” she asked, once again, flashing an ingratiating smile at the newest member of the Sapphire Lair, whether the female believed she was staying…or not.
Amber gulped, and her stunning eyes widened with both curiosity and apprehension. “I think so,” she said. “This doesn’t hurt or feel funny, right?”
Jordan laughed. “It feels a little funny, but no, it doesn’t hurt. It’s kind of a really cool sensation actually.”
Amber shook her head briskly as if dispersing her nerves. “Well, I guess there’s no time like the present.”
Zane studied her expression—she was definitely tense.
And by the shadowed look in her amber eyes, she was feeling both hope…
And regret.
As far as country-western concerts went, Amber had to hand it to Jordan and Macy: The band was excellent; the crowd really got into it; and if only for a while, the catchy lyrics, the bass guitar, and the multi-part harmonies almost made Amber forget what she was really up to at this “girl’s night out.”
Almost…
Texting a car service from a bathroom stall, trying to figure out a way to make a break for it at exactly 11:40, and worrying about Jordan, Macy, and Zane had still occupied most of Amber’s thoughts. Jordan was more than just human now—according to Axe, she had been converted in the temple—and Macy, while funny, nice, and fairly easygoing, also seemed like a person who could turn on the hysterics, if given enough drama to run with. As for Zane? Again, Axe had made it clear that Zane couldn’t step out of the portal, at least not while he was alone, without another dragyri to escort him—something about Lord Saphyrius’ orders, something about a recent mandate from all the dragon lords—so while that made Amber feel a little bit better, it also freaked her out.
What if Zane brought Levi, Jace, Nakai, or Axe with him when he came to pick up Jordan?
As it stood, it seemed too easy by half that Axe had not questioned Amber about her cell phone: the fact that she had kept it—and used it—the entire time she had been in the Pantheon. And just how the hell did that work, anyway? There weren’t likely to be any cell phone towers littered about the supernatural world, and Amber had never asked for a Wi-Fi password, assuming the Dragyr even used such a thing.
The whole thing was just way too easy.
Way too uncomplicated.
And if Amber had learned anything throughout her troubled life, it was that nothing ever came that easy…
The band’s lead singer, a rusty-haired cowboy with wild, unruly locks and torn, faded blue jeans, kicked at the stage with the heel of his boot; strummed three last notes on his acoustic guitar; and raised his cowboy hat high into the air, waving the Stetson at the crowd. “Thank you, Denver! We love you!” he shouted, and the crowd broke into an uproar.
Macy and Jordan were clapping wildly, straining their necks to get one last glimpse, as Amber reached for her cell phone, thumbed it on, and glanced at the clock: 11:35 PM.
Shit!
She had five minutes to get out of the amphitheater, make her way to the curb, find her driver, and jump into the car. Hopefully, the driver had followed her texted instructions to the letter, eager for the $200 tip: Just so you know, I’m trying to ditch my boyfriend a
fter the concert. Long story, but there’s $200 in it for you if you can help make that happen. Please tie an orange ribbon, scarf, or bandana around the driver’s side mirror and keep the car running! Unlock and OPEN the backseat door and be prepared to hit the gas the minute I get in. $200 cash if you do all five things!
What made matters even worse—without knowing why she needed it, Axe had given Amber the two hundred bucks.
Oh, well, she couldn’t worry about that now.
She tapped Jordan on the back of her shoulder. “This crowd!” she shouted, shaking her head and grimacing. “The noise! I’m starting to get claustrophobic—I’ll meet the two of you out front.” She held her breath, knowing this would never fly. There was no way Jordan Anderson-Saphyrius was going to let Amber just wander away. Amber’s leg was twitching as she tapped it against the ground, all her senses in high alert. She had already mapped out a snake-like route, the first five or six bodies she would need to weave around in order to make a run for it.
She was just waiting for Jordan to object.
Jordan’s bright hazel eyes seemed to cloud over, and something that looked oddly like sorrow flashed in their depths, and then the dragyra slowly nodded her head. “Okay.” Drowned out by the crowd, she mouthed the words in an exaggerated fashion: “We’ll see you in a few.”
And yes…
Yes!
The band was coming back for one last encore.
It didn’t get any better than this.
Stunned by what had just occurred…as well as what Jordan had said…Amber slipped her cell phone back into her purse and turned on her booted, spiked heels to get the hell out of the amphitheater.
Too simple.
Too perfect.
Too good to be true.
Nothing in life ever came that easy…
Didn’t matter—Amber could think about that later.
Right now, she had a date with a midsized SUV, and hopefully, one with an orange marker wrapped around the driver’s-side mirror.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Axeviathon could have followed the SUV on foot—his species was capable of moving that rapidly. He could have also followed the driver from the air, releasing his wheat-colored wings, a perfect match to his dirty-blond hair. While none of the Dragyr could shift into fully formed dragons, they all had use of both wings and scales, and if all that was too much or too complicated—following Amber while trying to remain invisible—he could’ve leaped blocks at a time if he needed to.
But Axe was a bit more practical than that, and he had no internal need to manufacture high drama. So he pulled an effortless vanishing act, hiding his molecular structure from human peepers, and climbed onto the roof of the vehicle. He tried to time it perfectly, settle his weight on the SUV just as Amber was settling into the backseat; and while the driver jerked, ducked, glanced upward, and frowned, the human male could not make sense of the strange sensation.
Mortals were so out of touch with their intuition.
Even when it screamed, “Something’s going on here!”
If they didn’t see it, hear it—touch, taste, or smell it—they were highly unlikely to act on it.
One less problem for Axe to solve, one less mind to manipulate…
He rolled onto his back, crossed his legs at the ankle, and linked both hands behind his head.
Ten minutes…
Fifteen?
Probably no more than twenty…
And Amber would arrive at the field for her rendezvous with Tony.
Whatever, Axe grumbled inwardly. Didn’t matter if Tony thought he had a date with Amber—truth was, Axe had a date with Tony, and Tony had a date with death.
Amber still could not believe her luck.
Nothing…
Absolutely nothing of any consequence had happened.
Amber had walked out of the concert, immediately identified the correct car by the glaring orange ribbon wrapped around the mirror, and climbed in the backseat with zero interference. And the drive across town had been equally uneventful. In fact, as the SUV now slowed to a crawl and pulled to the curb, alongside a barren field and a dry canal, the timing was virtually perfect:
Twelve o’clock midnight on the dot!
“Thank you,” Amber said softly, bending forward to remove her leather boots. While she didn’t relish the thought of padding through the dry brush and wild sod in her stockings, she knew she couldn’t run in such high, spiked heels, and they would just sink into the uneven turf anyway.
The young, bright-eyed driver turned around and glanced at Amber with suspicion. “You want me to drop you off here?”
“Yep.”
“You sure? There’s nothing around but a dark, empty field. That can’t be safe for a woman on her own.”
Amber forced an insincere smile. “It’s fine. I know this area—I grew up on the other side of that field. Trust me, there’s no one around this time of night.”
The driver peered through the passenger window and surveyed the field in earnest. “You sure? Seems kind of creepy to me.”
Amber reached into her purse, withdrew ten twenty-dollar bills, and handed them to the driver. “Here. The ride itself was already paid for on my card, but this is something extra for you.”
The driver smiled, took the cash, and tucked it inside his wallet. “Thanks, but I really didn’t do that much.”
Amber nodded. “You got me here safely and without any drama—that was all I asked and more than I could hope for.” She sighed as she reached for the handle on the backseat door.
Safely and without any drama…
That still remained to be seen.
She stared through the window, out into the darkness, and tried to calm her nerves.
Amber was this close to freedom…
This close to hooking up with Tony and finally getting away from Axe.
So why did the whole arrangement feel ass-backward?
Why did she feel as if she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life?
Amber had no intentions of staying with Tony, not anymore, not after everything that had gone down with that monster named Trader, and all she had learned about Zeik and Grunge. The trio still held the power of life and death over Amber; they still had the ability to turn her over to the police and have her arrested for the convenience store robbery. They still had all kinds of influence over judges and courts and legal proceedings—and now that Amber knew what Zeik and Grunge really were, that was the understatement of the century—but they no longer had any influence over Amber. Her perspective had changed, and her desire to live free, or die trying, had finally surpassed her fear. Even being locked up in a jail cell would be better than the way she had existed for so long…
Climbing out of the SUV, she thanked the driver one last time and stared across the field.
She couldn’t see Tony—at least not yet—but she knew he was out there, somewhere: waiting, hiding, biding his time in the darkness, ready to reclaim his most prized possession, the girl who had been too weak to fight him. The girl who had walked out of a convenience store, ten years earlier, and given the sick, twisted bastard her entire life.
She laughed softly beneath her breath.
Karma could be a bitch, and the irony wasn’t lost on Amber:
Someone bigger, badder, and far more determined than Tony had also claimed Amber as his own and taken her back, away from her captors. Tony had lost Amber the same way he had gotten her, and as absurd as it sounded, that someone was a dragyri male named Axeviathon. And in his own blunt, possessive, hard-ass way, he had given Amber the one thing Tony had managed to keep from her all those years—her self-respect.
Amber Carpenter no longer felt worthless.
No, her circumstances hadn’t really changed—Zeik, Tony, and Grunge could still cause her harm, and even Axe wouldn’t let her go that easily. But knowing she had value, that her life might just be worth living, had given her everything she needed to fight for her freedom.
&n
bsp; Nothing and everything had changed for Amber.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Pantheon
Ghostaniaz Dragos paced restlessly along the winding, vertical edge of the aqua-blue infinity pool on his private ocean-side balcony, outside the Diamond Lair.
The male felt twitchy.
He felt irritable, bitter, and completely amped up.
He knew he should’ve been feeling something softer, prettier, like compassion or empathy, maybe even remorse for the way he had brutalized another dragyri mercenary. After all, that shit he had done to Axe—ripping the male apart like some random, worthless carrion—crushing his bones and rending his flesh? A reasonable being would have felt something other than twitchy, right?
But Ghost was anything but reasonable.
Anything but normal…
And he was tired of the whole damn creep-show, playing his part for Lord Dragos’ amusement.
Ghost was ready to get off the ride.
And if that meant finally ending his pointless, miserable existence—pulling the plug, once and for all—then so be it.
The question wasn’t if, but how.
Perhaps he could provoke his demented daddy into doing it for him by saying something—doing something—so vile and disrespectful that the dragon lord would snap. Or perhaps he could take a solo trip through the portal, head earthside without any backup, and see what kind of trouble he could get into. Humans could also be provoked to great violence with the right incentive, but damnit, just how would that work?
A hail of bullets wouldn’t do anything to a dragyri male but tickle him.