Pyro's Wedding Day: A Happily Ever After Epilogue (7 Virgin Brides for 7 Weredragon Billioniares Book 4)

by Starla Night

  Pyro’s Wedding Day ~ A Happily Ever After Epilogue

  7 Virgin Brides for 7 Weredragon Billionaires

  Starla Night

  Copyright © 2018 Starla Night

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Pyro’s Wedding Day

  Dragon VIP Kyanite

  Also by Starla Night

  About the Author

  Introduction

  This is a super sweet “happily ever after” bonus short story for the full length steamy science fiction romance novel Dragon VIP: Pyrochlore. YOU REALLY MUST READ THAT BOOK FIRST!!!

  Read first: Dragon VIP: Pyrochlore

  My newsletter subscribers received this bonus story a week early for free!

  Subscribe to receive future bonus stories here: http://smarturl.it/StarlaNewsletter

  This bonus short story takes place one year after the events of the novel — and well after the series is complete.

  It was challenging to write without spoilers! I am deliberately vague and there’s a bit of a “fuzzy cam” over most of the guests. I hope it’s no surprise that by the end of the series, every dragon finds his/her true mate, even if I leave it a mystery as to who they are … and they all come together to have a wonderful “real” wedding for Pyro + Amy.

  But has the bad boy really reformed? Or will his craziness turn Amy’s sweet wedding dreams into an out-of-control, groomzilla nightmare?

  Pyro’s Wedding Day

  “Pyro!” Amy clung to her husband desperately. “This is dangerous.”

  Between her legs, his amused, sexy voice made her insides melt like chocolate sin. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine! Anyone could come in.”

  He drizzled delicious, rough kisses up her inner thigh. “Then we should give them something to feel dirty about.”

  “My mom is right outside!”

  He lifted his head. His lazy smile made her feminine places swell with familiar heat. But he dropped her satin peach dressing gown and leaned back to stand. “There. Your garter belt is in place.”

  She heaved a nervous and more-than-she-should-be aroused sigh. Her duchess satin wedding dress hung in its special wardrobe, a glimpse almost visible from his position inside the bridal suite, and her shoes peeked out of their tissue-frosted box. She pushed on his too-attractive chest. “You’re not supposed to be in here. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

  He drew her against him so her soft cleft pressed seductively against his hard cock. “Then it’s a good thing you’re already my wife.”

  Just over a year ago they exchanged vows in front of an Elvis impersonator at midnight in Las Vegas. Then, Pyro had asked her if she wanted family present or a dress nicer than the limited stock of cheap chapel rentals. But they’d only known each other a few days and Amy had told him they would hold a “real” wedding on their first anniversary.

  Pyro had taken that promise to heart. He’d driven the schedule, announced their plans before they’d picked out a venue, and created the wedding she’d always dreamed of having.

  She wondered, at times, if this was a hold over from his first marriage. He didn’t like to talk about his first wife, a dragon female he met during his military service who later left him for an aristocrat. Amy imagined their wartime ceremony must have been brief, and that female had never introduced Pyro to her upper class family, so he’d remained the dirty secret from the wrong side of society. It had made him cynical and jaded about relationships and nearly destroyed their chance for happiness.

  But Pyro had committed to Amy. Amy, after a few misadventures, had successfully introduced him to her parents. And, although her parents might not feel perfectly comfortable around their billionaire, alien, dragon shifter son-in-law, they made an honest effort to welcome him into their home.

  Now, the morning of their “real” wedding, Pyro had smooth talked his way into the bridal suite and caught Amy for the briefest moment when she was alone. And, if they didn’t have a whole, busy day ahead of them, she’d probably make an excuse to go off with him and shirk her responsibilities. Just for a little bit.

  His gorgeous, fiery gaze dropped to her parted lips. Heat crackling between them, he leaned forward.

  She realized what he was doing at the last second and put her hands up, over his mouth. “No!”

  He nibbled on her fingers, making the throb between her legs hotter and more needy. “No?”

  “If you ruin my makeup, so help me Pyrochlore Onyx, I will ruin you!”

  One brow cocked and interest kindled in his eyes. He loved a challenge. “Ruin me how?”

  “You don’t want to know.” She pushed him back, getting a full stride of space between them, and smoothed her dress. With her best teacher gaze, she flexed her command. “You have no idea how early I had to get up and there’s more to do.”

  He grinned, deadly challenge gleaming. “Bridezilla.”

  “Refusing to have sex with you in the bridal suite of a wedding venue when anyone could walk in is not being a bridezilla!” She could smack him. But she responsibly held herself back. No need for a red handprint on his cheek. “Our ‘first look’ photos are in a short time and you have to be awed when you see me all dressed up looking fine. So, now, go.”

  Like the red scales flexing under his skin, he wasn’t afraid of fire. “You won’t surprise me. You always look gorgeous.”

  Her heart swelled painfully in her chest.

  He honestly meant it. He’d once told her he saw no difference between her in an expensive designer gown, salon highlights, and airbrushed makeup, and her fresh out of a shower with damp tendrils and baggy flannel pajamas. And he’d certainly seen her at much worse times — dripping with old sweat, face red from screaming — and kissed her with such sincerity that she had finally accepted he would love her no matter what she looked like.

  Sensing the softening effects of his words, he drew her into his arms again and tilted up her chin. Lowering his head, his firm lips just brushed her trembling—

  The door to the bridal suite burst open. A fluffy, white-clad, infant princess floated in. “Gooo.”

  Pyro leaned back and smiled at their hovering, slightly-rotating girl with pride. “Caught me, huh?”

  “Brigid Pearl Onyx!” Amy’s mother rushed in and scooped the three-month-old into her arms. “I thought I had you strapped to the changing table! I turn my back for an instant to get your shoes, and—”

  “Mom, it’s okay.” Amy broke away from Pyro and comforted her mother, who was clearly the more upset one. “I’ve lost her so many times. You tie her to the crib and whoops, the tether slips and she’s bouncing on the ceiling again. And Pyro’s ceilings are so high.”

  “She’s going to be Daddy’s little hellion.” Pyro stroked his daughter’s chubby cheek. “Nobody’s going to make you follow the rules.”

  Amy and her mother exchanged glances. Pyro was probably going to regret that in, oh, about the time Brigid could form toddler words to shout “No!” To say nothing of her teenage years.

  But for now, her little pearl-white dragon scales emerged and disappeared under her dad’s gentle touch. Like spitting up, object permanence, and floating away unpredictably, she’d soon gain control over the emergence of her scales as she developed.

  Amy squeezed her solid little daughter and placed a tender kiss on her baby powder scented forehead.

  Py
ro raised a brow. “How come she gets a kiss?”

  “Because she will not ruin my makeup.”

  He pouted.

  Brigid chewed on her fist and drooled.

  “Pyro?” Melody moved laboriously up to the doorway on her newly polished silver braces and saw the group of them. “Ah! You’re not dressed.”

  “I know.” Amy indicated her husband, mother, and daughter. “I got ambushed.”

  “You too, but I meant Pyro.” Melody leaned on one brace. Her wine-maroon maid of honor dress flattered her figure and her hair was tucked into an elaborate fishtail braid threaded with sprigs of sweetly scented lavender. “What are you doing in here?”

  “He was placing the garter,” Amy said. “Wedding tradition.”

  “What? That’s not the tradition. Grooms take the garter off; they don’t put it on.”

  Amy turned on Pyro with growing anger. “What?”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Darcy told me it was important.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Take a deep breath. Don’t turn into a bridezilla.”

  “You’re the one making me lose it!”

  “Hold up, lovebirds .Pyro, you’ve got to go.” Melody jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “The photographer wants to start with groomsmen. They’re already out under the hazelnut trees.”

  Amy pushed on Pyro. “See? I told you. Hurry and go.”

  He leaned into her push, murmured in her ear, “Promise to be my ruin later,” and snaked his hand lower to pat her derriere.

  She watched him walk away, her hunger deepening. He had a fine backside as well as a nice front, and now, no thanks to him, she wanted both naked and clenched in her embrace.

  “I’ll call your stylist,” Amy’s mother said, hurrying out with Brigid in tow.

  “She’s grabbing her extra tools from the car,” Amy called.

  When it was just her and Melody in the room, she sat abruptly and stared at her loose red tendrils framing her delicately airbrushed face in the mirror. “Am I turning into a bridezilla?”

  “No.” Melody moved the rest of the way into the bridal suite and rested on the arm of the couch. “You haven’t thrown a chair because the table runners are the wrong shade of taupe. You’re fine.”

  She looked down at her crystal-studded French manicure. “I almost threw a chair at Pyro.”

  “Who wouldn’t? That’s perfectly normal.”

  Amy snorted.

  “Oh, good. Almost a grin.” Melody brushed lint from her robe. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be perfect.”

  And it was.

  An hour later, Amy met Pyro, waiting in his classic gray suit with his back turned for the “first look,” under the gorgeous green hazelnut trees.

  Melody helped the photographer’s assistant arrange her dreamy ivory ball gown, ensuring the duchess satin fanned like glossy pool and the crystals beading her waistband sparkled. Her auburn hair, swept up in a glossy bun framed by a crystal headband, trailed a stunning lace veil. Melody double-checked the peach ribbon binding her heirloom rose bouquet, then gave her the thumbs up and backed away to give them privacy.

  The photographer, who Amy suddenly realized had already been capturing snaps, positioned her shiny lens and gave Pyro the cue to turn around.

  Since he had already said she looked gorgeous to him regardless of her outfit, she didn’t expect much of a reaction — even though she felt an eager nervous excitement, clenching the heavy, fragrant bouquet in her satin-gloved fingers with a hopeful smile she just couldn’t repress stealing across her face as she awaited his approval.

  He turned. The usual dangerous smile creased his gorgeous face — and stopped.

  Trailing his gaze from the sparkling crystals on her open-toed shoes to the top of her bun, a frown suddenly chased itself across his face. Just like when their daughter had been born, moisture gathered in the rims of his red-threaded eyes.

  He swallowed convulsively and seemed to force himself to walk forward, to take her outstretched hand and smile.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “You look good.” His voice sounded unusually rough. He cleared his throat. “You always look gorgeous.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He denied the emotion clearly warring behind his normally careless, don’t-give-a-damn facade. Just like when he’d held tiny newborn Brigid for the first time. “I’m fine.”

  She squeezed his fingers. They both knew the truth.

  The photographer checked her captured photos, a satisfied smile on her face, and followed them to meet the rest of the wedding guests.

  They were married for the second time in the event hall of The Old Schoolhouse, a historic white clapboard building with a lovely romantic feel.

  It was funny how spending hours pouring over wedding magazines and fantasizing about the most lavish destination weddings had clarified her true desires. She wanted a simple, traditional wedding. The Old Schoolhouse, so named because it had been such in the fifties, was only a short drive from her parents’ house in Portland. But nothing beat the crisp, green gardens of the awakening Pacific Northwest spring.

  They’d kept the wedding party deliberately small, with Melody her maid of honor and Pyro’s jokester friend Darcy for best man, and his sister Amber standing with his older brother Mal as their single bridesmaid and groomsman.

  On her side, her mentor Corinne and friends from school were guests, along with some of the family from Boston she’d never met — her Irish grandparents on both sides, a few cousins, and a couple of determined aunts and uncles eager to re-establish contact with her “disappeared” parents who’d only just gotten out of the Witness Protection Program.

  Pyro’s side was even smaller. His siblings, their wives, and their young babies strapped down to prevent them from floating away like little infant balloons.

  While a harpist played the processional, Amy’s mom floated their baby Brigid down the aisle in her poofy flower girl dress, a fist full of white petals in her tiny hand.

  They’d introduced some modern touches by writing their own vows. When Pyro held her hand and promised to love, support, and empower Amy so long as they both should live, he got the moist eyes and frowny brows again. But it was all gone away by the time he received permission to kiss the bride.

  A sweet, sensual, and for him, innocent kiss made her heart swell to painful proportions in her sweetheart bodice. He’d once worried that, because of her inexperience and not reacting to his kiss, that she didn’t want him. Since that time, she tried her hardest to let him know that she did. Now, in front of all their guests, she clung on and kissed him right back.

  After the wedding, the guests dispersed to shuttles to be flown to the reception. Amy retreated to the bridal suite with her mom and Melody and removed just enough of her bodice to rock Brigid into a milk coma with a good nursing.

  “That feels better,” she said, snuggling her fluffy, snoozing baby while wolfing down one of Melody’s homemade lactation power bars and washing it down with half a water bottle of pink lemonade. “You’ll meet us at the reception?”

  Her mother waited, eager to take back Brigid, but trying not to impatiently grab her granddaughter away. “We’re heading right over.”

  Because Amy had taken the last months of her first year working as an official second-grade teacher at Excelsior Preparatory Academy for maternity leave, there were relatively few days her mother got full charge of Brigid from morning to night. She’d been looking forward to Amy’s wedding almost more than Amy or Pyro.

  Pyro came to the door, cuffs undone and collar loosened. “Ready?”

  “Almost.” Amy released their precious baby to her mom and turned to Melody for help fixing up her dress. “Is everyone gone?”

  “Some stayed behind to well-wish us.”

  Melody finished the last button on the back of Amy’s gown. “You’re not really going to fly the whole way, are you?”

  “Yeah.” Py
ro grinned at her. “We’re taking the scenic route.”

  She frowned.

  He sobered. “You okay?”

  “Huh? Oh.” Melody rubbed the dark patches under her eyes that she’d spent their entire makeup session trying to disguise. “No, I just didn’t get much sleep.”

  “Too many video games?”

  “Hah.” She muttered something unintelligible and patted his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the reception with your cake.”

  Melody had made the Groom’s Cake. Amy would have asked her to make the regular wedding cake too but she’d been afraid the massive enterprise — baking a glitzy, multi-tier monolith for a few hundred dragon and human appetites — would over-stress her talented former roommate. The just-for-fun Groom’s Cake and the sweet snacks Melody had brought her unasked to make the pre-wedding extra delicious had seemed stressful enough.

  Amy hugged her. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” Melody returned her hug, her arm braces bumping the satin dress gently. “Thanks to you I have a booming Etsy store.”

  Well, thanks to a hundred camisoles and jeans given to Amy as an unwanted first-wedding present. Melody embellished them for fun with bedazzlers, ribbons, and other designs and discovered, as with baking, she had a real talent for it. Now, she could afford to live on her own, and was even saving up for the down payment on a house.

  Amy still stopped by a couple times a week to taste test — and scarf down — Melody’s newest baking experiment, show off Brigid’s baby milestones, and watch the next season of trash TV.

  She straightened, conscious of the time. “Alright, see you at the reception.”

  Pyro took Amy’s hand. They exited the clapboard building and passed through the small, lingering crowd. In the middle of the parking area, Pyro drew Amy to him and turned.

  With a careless wave, he grinned. “See you at the reception.”