by Zoe Chant
She was free.
She was free, and as that last bit of uncertainty washed away in the blissful tide of eagerness, her breath caught as Mikhail bent to kiss each of her breasts, lingering kisses that tightened her nipples to peaks of sensitivity. Her stomach muscles tightened, shooting darts of heat down to her core as he caressed, kissed, and played.
Finally she stood in nothing but her sandals, her skin sensitive to the air. His hands roamed her body, loving each fold, and he bent to kiss every place he touched. Each press of his lips shot liquid light into her core until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She needed him now.
She pulled apart his coat and began to work at his shirt buttons, desperate in her desire to touch him everywhere. He laughed low in his chest and stopped caressing her only long enough to help her by pulling free the loosened tie and dropping it on the floor beside her dress. Jacket and shirt followed, as her fingers dove for the buckle of his pants.
He stepped out of his shoes as she yanked his pants down, and her mouth rounded with appreciation as she freed him. She was breathless by now, desire running thick as molten silver through her veins as she caressed his length, the skin so soft over iron hardness, glistening at the tip.
“Let me,” he said again, and knelt to undo the buckles of her sandals. When she stepped out of them, he stood and swept her up, and laid her gently on the bed. Then he stretched out beside her.
“I have a trick knee,” she said, her voice high.
He chuckled, stooped to press a kiss beside it, then worked burning kisses up the inside of her thigh, causing an avalanche of ache deep within. She had been trying to find a delicate way to point out that nothing but vibrators had been near her for almost three decades—and little enough of that in recent years—but every thought shattered before the building tension throbbing in her.
Mikhail kissed his way up to her mound. Her belly trembled with the towering wave of need, and by the time he pressed a kiss there, she discovered that her body had not forgotten what to do, not at all. She was as slick as she’d been at twenty-five. In fact, she thought as stars exploded behind her eyelids and she floated on a wave of bliss, this was far, far better.
Her previous sex had been with someone who did what was necessary.
She had never, until this moment, been worshipped.
The first kiss into her most tender place was a salute, the second plundered her, demanding. She opened gleefully to his demands and he answered by plunging deep, tongue, lips, teeth launching that driving, aching need into orbit so high and fast she was dragging her nails in the bed sheets and whimpering.
She opened her legs their widest, abandoning herself utterly as pleasure mounted impossibly fast, impossibly high, then crashed around her in waves of chiming sweetness—leaving every bone and muscle unstrung on a floating tide.
That only lasted a breath or two, leaving her hungry for more, for him. It was her turn to learn, and to celebrate, every inch of his body. It wasn’t always easy—that knee did tweak—but she ignored that as she explored the contours of his muscles, the soft hair growing over his breastbone, then leading down to his hardness. And it was her turn to play, teasing with tongue, with lips, and with little nips that brought out gasps from him that made her feel more powerful than any dragon.
He caught her hands.
“Now,” he husked.
She was already lying back.
“In me,” she commanded.
And exulted as that tidal wave of passion and generosity welled upward, bringing them both soaring—she was no longer on a bed, but had been transformed to a creature made of light, as boundless as all the sea as he eased into her as if she had been made for him, and him for her.
She arched her hips, pulled him closer, and he slid home.
The third crescendo was even more intense than the first, a white lightning of bliss. Through it she held onto him as he thrust deep into her core, then he too exploded in starlight and came spiraling down.
The waves and waves of bliss receded, leaving them safe within the shelter of each other’s arms.
TEN
MIKHAIL
Mikhail slept beside his mate.
His mate. Bird and he had mated, joyously, tenderly, passionately. She was his. He was hers. Even in the depths of the best rest he could remember in years, he was aware of her dreams. He smiled drowsily, slowly waking as his mind sifted through the layers of emotion, seen in colors. She slept in the rosy shades of contentment.
Roses. As he lay in her bed, her scent pleasingly all over him—sweet-salt, uniquely hers, reminding him of the roses out in her garden—he was aware of his dragon’s happiness.
But his dragon was also listening on the mythic plane for any sign of the cause of that quake. It had happened when he and Bird were discussing the mural in that warded chamber. Mikhail was sure that hadn’t been a coincidence. But what in their talk, or maybe their actions, had caused it? More important, who was monitoring the chamber, and how?
There is something out there, the dragon reminded him.
Mikhail needed to get back there, but he would not risk taking Bird until he knew it was safe.
It was still quite dark, the predawn hour. He sat up and pressed the covers down between them so that cold air would not rush in to disturb her, but her eyelids flew up anyway. Her smile brought light upwelling within him. His dragon hummed on that vast chord of contentment, but remained alert.
“Good morning, love,” Mikhail said.
“Good morning, love,” Bird said, softly and gravely. She sat up, a curly lock falling over one eye. He bent to lift it and brush it back as she said, “Are you awake because you’re a morning person, or because you need to be doing something? Well, either way, I’ll be a good host and offer you the shower first.”
“We might enjoy that together,” he suggested. He adored the rosy blush that brightened her skin down to her collarbones.
“My bathroom is an afterthought,” she said, looking very sorry indeed. “I bang my elbows in that shower if I’m not careful. It will be a very tight squeeze for you.”
“We’re going to have to remedy that,” he said, making his brows wiggle, and she laughed.
Together they squeezed into the shower. With their bodies pressed tightly together, they stood and let the warm water slide down their skin like silk.
“What’s it like, being a dragon?” she asked.
“Well, I am the result of a diplomatic match between the royal dragons of Eastern Europe and the imperial dragons of China. It was an arranged marriage, which is common among us if we do not find our mates. We often don’t, as dragons are increasingly rare. I’m a five-clawed silver dragon, which is rare even for dragons. In the dragon hierarchy, we’re second only to the golden imperial dragon. So from my earliest years I was raised to know my responsibility. I was training constantly.”
“It sounds very . . . businesslike. I hope you were not lonely as a boy.”
He smiled at her worried tone. “If it helps, don’t think of me living in Spartan circumstances, like a boot camp. I grew up in a palace high in the mountains, and had hordes of servants waiting on me. I also had an army of tutors, and I’ve traveled the world.”
“Oh! And then you had an arranged marriage?”
“Yes.” He pressed even closer to kiss her. “Because you were not yet in my life. A marriage was arranged with a suitable partner from a noble family, in hopes that we would produce a dragon of the imperial colors. Fei Zhan came into the world—”
Her phone rang.
“Uh oh,” she said, all the happiness draining from her face. “That’s the ringtone for the big house. You get dressed. I’ll answer it.” She hurried out, grabbing a towel.
As she threw on a robe, she called, “There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. I get new ones every time I visit the dentist.”
She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. He would have to explain that he could see
in the dark when he needed to. That would come. Pleasurable anticipation surged through him at the prospect of all the small things they had yet to learn about one another. Learning about Bird was like opening an infinite box of presents, each a new surprise, each more delightful than the last.
As he dried himself, his keen dragon’s hearing picked up the sound of her voice. He could have extended his awareness to the words, but he wanted to let her tell him what she thought he should know. They were now mated, and secure with one another. She must decide how, and when, to let her into all the other aspects of her life.
The tiny bathroom had obviously been added on much later than the cottage had been built, and the best word for it was “functional.” Barely.
Our mate deserves better, his dragon groused when Mikhail turned to hang up his towel and his elbow bumped into the shower door. Another turn, and the sink, which was the size found in the galleys of very small boats, gouged into his hip.
I agree that she deserves better. We’ll see to it as soon as our mission is complete.
His dragon did not argue, a sign that the matter was gaining urgency.
He squeezed out of the bathroom as Bird came charging by, eyes wide with alarm.
“What is it? Can I help?’ he asked.
She slipped by him into the bathroom. Over the sound of tooth brushing, she called, “My landlord has fallen down.” And a few unintelligible words.
She charged out two minute later and dashed into the bedroom. “Clothes . . . clothes . . . clothes . . .” She thrashed her way into some sweats and an old shirt. Mikhail was forced to dress in his clothes from the night before, but he left off the tie and jacket.
“Let me help,” he said again, more firmly. And when she looked up at him, her pupils large and dark, he added, “If your landlord will not mind my Walk of Shame wear.”
The utter surprise in her face at his offer struck him to the heart. He knew without asking that she had been more alone than not in her former marriage, with that man whose aura was so sour.
Her brief smile lit up her face. “Mr. Kleiner will never notice. If you really don’t mind, yes, I’d be very grateful if you’d come with me. I’m not sure how much help he’ll need.”
“Just to walk by your side is my pleasure and my honor,” he said, and loved the way she pinked to the edges of her ears.
She shoved her feet into sandals as he finished tying his shoes. She led the way out, through the beautiful garden in the soft predawn darkness. He made a mental note to ask whose hand lay behind the beauty of that garden, and if it was hers. She began to explain in quick, disjointed sentences about her landlord, a single man who had worked very slowly on his art over the years, painting landscapes that he mostly gave away as the fortune he’d inherited slowly dwindled.
“Mr. Kleiner’s just so unworldly,” Bird said as they passed through yet another area of the garden as beautiful as any of those in the great, historical manors back in China. “He paints so slowly—in these recent years, he’s maybe finished two. I don’t know anything about how art is valued, but I think he’s wonderful.”
She stopped then, checking him with an air of uncertainty. He let himself sense the surface of her thoughts: was she boring, going on about someone he’d never met? Was she using time he needed?
“I’d like to see his artwork,” he said.
And he watched her sunrise smile shine across her face before she said, “I’ll have to take you to the Strand, my favorite diner, to see the ones he gave the owner there, years ago, just because she always ordered the coffee he likes.”
They reached Mr. Kleiner’s house. Mikhail had seen from above that the roof was damaged, and several back windows had been boarded up. He could also see by the careful way Bird opened the weather-warped doors with their fine old carving that she thought a great deal of this house that did not belong to her. He followed her through a back door, into a spotless kitchen.
“He must have fallen after Mr. Noko left,” Bird said worriedly.
“Mr. Noko?”
“He’s deaf. And though we’d like to get him a cell phone, he refuses. He’s been living off the grid ever since he was a boy. He’s still afraid the government would do something awful to him as he has no social security number, or ID, or any of that. He spends his days outside, and he knows every plant in the entire estate.”
“Is he the one responsible for that magnificent garden?”
“Yes! I’m so glad you like it!” Bird threw a bright glance over her shoulder. “I often think that the garden is his masterpiece. It’s living art, every bit as fine as anything Michelangelo or Leonardo could paint.”
They checked once-splendid rooms, now sun-faded and shabby, as she told him more about Mr. Kleiner, Mr. Noko, and the other tenants living on the estate. The smell of mildew had set into the rooms facing the ocean. Mikhail listened to the story of otherwise lonely lives interconnected with mutual thoughtfulness and care, more precious than the money they didn’t have, as Bird searched anxiously for her landlord.
Emergency aside, Mikhail reflected on how right it was that his Bird had found herself a place amid art and artists as quiet and gentle as she. How could he take her away from it?
“ . . . there are landline phones in every room, old rotary dials, and even some beautiful thirties phones with brass handles connecting the ear and speaker pieces . . .” Bird was saying, then, “Ah!”
They walked into what had once been a magnificent library, with paneled walls and a Renaissance ceiling. High bookcases were packed with what appeared to be a very old library.
Bird spotted a white, balding head, and sped into the room. On the floor, between a great stone fireplace and an old couch sat an elderly, frail man, with a phone by his side.
“I pulled it down by the cord,” Mr. Kleiner said. His watery, faded eyes lifted to Mikhail’s face. “Who is this?”
“This is my . . . this is Mikhail,” Bird said. “He came to help.”
The man looked terrified. “He’s not from Them, is he?”
Mikhail slipped his arm around the old man, exerting his mind on the mythic realm. Ordinarily he refused to influence others against their will, but this poor old man was clearly terrified.
“I’m Bird’s friend,” he said, pitching his voice to be soothing. “You will take no harm of me.” As he spoke, he lifted the man up to the couch, and set him carefully down. “Now we should check you over to make certain you have not damaged a bone.”
A gnarled hand trembled as it touched his. “No, no, I’m fit as a fiddle. Just a tad rickety on my pins. Can’t get up anymore, not from down there.” Paint-stained fingers indicated the floor. “Don’t call the doc, Bird girl. A glass of water and an aspirin, and I’ll be squared away.”
“I’ll go get the aspirin,” Bird said, shooting a worried look at Mikhail. And a whisper, “Stay with him, please?”
“I will.” It was more of a vow than a promise. Mikhail could see that here was a problem that concerned his mate, and at least two other people little able to help themselves. It would be his honor to lend them his aid, but how, beyond the immediate?
Bird flitted away. Suspecting that she had to go all the way back to the other end of the house, Mikhail said to Mr. Kleiner, “What can I do to make you comfortable? How about some pillows here?”
The anxious look eased from the elderly man’s face. “That would be peachy-keen, young man. Thank you.”
Humor flared briefly in Mikhail at his being addressed as ‘young man’ when he was many years older than this frail human, but he said nothing as he set pillows so that Mr. Kleiner could lean back and give a long sigh. “That fall rattled my bones good, it did,” he said. “A short snooze and I should be right as rain.”
Bird reappeared, and together they supported Mr. Kleiner as he took the two aspirin. Then he sank back. “Right as rain. Right as rain,” he murmured. “No doctors. I don’t want Them over here, badgering me again.”
“I promise,”
Bird said. “I’ll come back later to make your lunch, all right?”
“You’re a good girl, Birdy,” Mr. Kleiner murmured, shutting his eyes. “Kuma Noko and me, we’re both getting up there in years. Never woulda thought it . . .”
He dropped off to sleep.
“Is it all right to leave him?” Mikhail asked as they walked out.
“Yes. It’s happened before.” But Bird betrayed her worry in her tight voice and a quick look behind her. “Just, lately it’s been more often. But he can’t bear the thought of being bullied by his relatives. And I don’t blame him.”
They exited the house. The sun had just begun to rise, sending pearly light over the gorgeous display of flowering shrubs, fruit trees, and blossoms. Bird bent to yank a weed from a bed of pansies.
“Mr. Noko is slowing down, too,” she said, almost under her breath. “It’s going to be horrible when the inevitable comes. His family will put him in a nursing home and sell the property. I hate the thought of the garden being ripped out to make room for those awful houses, like the one I lived in when I was married, with bedroom windows looking straight into your neighbor’s windows because the houses take up the entire tiny lot. How I hated that place!” she added fiercely as they approach her cottage.
When they got there, she turned to Mikhail. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“You are my mate,” he said. “We walk side by side. It gives me pleasure to help you in any way I can.”
“I’m not used to . . .” Bird’s smile slipped, and she looked away. “Sadly, meaning well won’t fix what’s wrong around here. There’s nothing any one of us can do. Doris has mentioned getting together a community fundraiser, but even that might not raise the amount needed to take care of him, fix the house, and keep the taxes paid. If we did hold a fundraiser, we’d risk getting the attention of his relatives, who’d use it as proof that he can’t care for himself.” She shook her head. “The only thing we can do is keep on doing what we can to see that he’s comfortable. So.”