Banshee Seduction (Montgomery's Sin Book 1)

by Diane Saxon

  “For the love of all that’s holy.” She looked from side to side, anxious for no one to have heard her, hoping she wasn’t going to get struck by lightning for her use of bad language. She narrowed her eyes and stared into the night sky. It might be worse than lightning. If she wasn’t mistaken, a giant bat was flying straight at her.

  “Shit!”

  She leaped back into her apartment, slammed the patio doors shut, turned the key, and threw her curtains closed. Desperate panic made her pant, fast and erratic.

  “Slow down, slow down.”

  She was going mad. There was nothing out there. It was just her imagination. God had not sent some vile creature to smite her for her evil thoughts and bad language instead of using the typical thunderbolt.

  She peeped from between the curtains. The drumroll of her own pulse thundered in her ears to join the howling confusion of voices. She scoured the sky. Nothing. She was a brave banshee; she had the support of the shrieking hags in her head. She opened the curtains wider so she had a better all-around view. No. Still nothing.

  Feeling stupid, she unlocked the patio doors and stepped out, curious to discover what had made her duck and run. It was probably only a moth or something, closer than she thought, fluttering in her line of sight.

  She was going crazy. Or possibly she should never have finished off the entire tub of ice cream as she sat in bed wallowing over her misplaced lust and blinking the half-naked man out of her mind’s eye. Why was he the last thing she’d seen before she turned the TV off? He’d given her a mind worm and she couldn’t close her eyes for the sight of him smeared in baby oil, his enormous chest glowing golden in the studio lights. It was Matt who drove her crazy. It was his fault.

  Heart still fluttering with fear, adrenaline rushed through her system, refusing to slow down. She took another step closer to the wall. It was a sugar rush; it had to be. Her heart had never run so fast—or galloped. She turned her head one way and then the other. She drew in a slow, controlled breath and let it out again. In and out. The silence of the air above the steady whoosh of the night city noises comforted her. It was nothing. Nothing to worry about. The purr of comforting voices soothed her.

  She took a deeper breath, blew it out, and checked the pulse in her wrist. It steadied. The thick lining of ice cream still sat in a sickly glut, but her stomach started to unclench. She breathed in—then out.

  Wham! Whollop!

  Death would have been a blessing, but instead, her adrenaline pounded her heartbeat through the base of her throat as she whipped her head around and stared in horror at the enormous creature that had slammed into her balcony wall. Its colossal body clung on by what appeared to be sharp talons. Wide wings flapped in a frenzy as the thing gripped the top of the wall. With a slow, controlled move, it turned its head in her direction, opened its mouth, and exposed long, dagger-like teeth that drooled spit.

  “Sweet heavenly chiming bells.”

  A brave banshee she might be, but not courageous enough to hang around. She whirled, threw herself back inside her apartment, slammed the door, and locked it, wrenching the curtains closed again. Breath refused to fill her airways in smooth, long pulls. Hyperventilating was the least of her problems. She was about to have her throat ripped out by the monster on the balcony if she wasn’t mistaken.

  She should run.

  She parted the curtains a smidgen, pulse rate so fast she couldn’t have counted the beats. Risking just one eye, she peeped out. Astounded, she watched as the creature, enormous wings doing a slow, hovering flap, hauled itself up onto the balcony wall and wavered drunkenly on the edge as though it were about to fall off.

  Fascinated, she opened the curtains wider to stare.

  She was never going to eat an entire tub of chocolate-chunk fudge in one sitting again.

  The creature shuffled its feet, raised its head, and met her gaze, holding it for a long moment. Ginny slowly closed the curtains and backed away.

  It was her. She was hallucinating. There were no such things as dragons. Not beautiful shimmering purple and green, with jade eyes so beautiful they reminded her of Matt. No. Dragons did not simply appear on your balcony and stare deep into your soul. Uh-uh. Nope. Not possible. The mind worm of the chunky-chocolate chip had sent her over the edge. Her imagination had at last broken loose and was howling through the ether, wild and abandoned. And those bitches in her head, they just whined a little. No help whatsoever.

  She backed up another few steps until her knees came up against the edge of her sofa, and she let her legs collapse, lowering herself onto the seat. She raised her hand to her mouth and nibbled on her fingernails, heart still racing, blood flowing thin and fast through her veins. The voices in her head stuttered into muteness. Where were they when she needed them? They always had plenty to say when it came to moaning and whining, but when she needed some support, some goddamned decent advice—where were they then?

  A loud flapping followed by a heavy thunk outside the balcony doors had her biting her nail even harder, until her teeth crunched through.

  “Dammit.” She hated to bite her nails.

  She was being stupid.

  “There are no such things as dragons.” She spoke into the silence, and the voices simpered sarcastically in her head.

  “Nor banshees.”

  “No such thing as vampires.”

  “Archangels aren’t real.”

  If it was all they could contribute, they could just… “Shut up.”

  Quiet, sneaky laughter filled her mind in response to her vicious snarl and annoyed the hell out of her.

  Resolved, she stood, walked to the curtains and whipped them open, coming face-to-face with the giant dragon through the windowpane. His sea-green eyes, filled with soft appeal, stared straight into hers.

  Her hand was on the door before she even consciously thought about it; she clicked the lock and opened the door wide. The dragon lurched, and she skipped back. Squashed Ginny was not on the menu—she hoped. The dragon coughed, and a small ball of fire skimmed over her, heating her flesh as though it had stroked her. Barbecued Ginny might be another matter.

  “Ginny.” Voice rusty and coarse, the dragon slavered as its mouth opened, and she was treated to another view of its white, pointy teeth when it tried again. “Ginny. It’s me—Matthew.”

  He folded his wings in, took a step forward, and stumbled. No idea what possessed her, she rushed toward him, held up her hand, and placed it on his scaled chest, just to have it skim off again. She looked at her palm. Clear fluid coated it. She leaned in, took a sniff, and the scent of baby oil filled her nostrils.

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  The dragon form shrugged, hung his head in pitiful shame, and coaxed a small gurgle of laughter from her. If she was dreaming, she might as well have fun. His head came back up; his sea-green gaze pinned her.

  “I think someone spiked my drink.”

  Sympathy unfurled, and she wiped the baby oil onto her pajama top before raising her hand to stroke his face.

  His deep voice grumbled. “I don’t feel so good.”

  She took a rapid step back. “You don’t look too good, either. You’re a bit green around the gills.”

  He snorted. A tiny flame puffed out of his nostrils. “I’m supposed to be green…and purple.”

  She leaned in for a closer look. “You seem more green than purple to me.”

  He opened his wings wide, making her move back, shuffled, folded them in, and settled again, a tremor running through his body.

  “Ginny, can I stay here?”

  “I…”

  “Please.”

  How could she resist the appeal in his wide green eyes and the flutter of his exceptionally long black eyelashes? She stepped back and opened the door as far as she could to allow him in. If it was a sugar high causing the monster mirage, then that was okay. Also, a dream was acceptable.

  Tempted to dash forward and wrap
her arms around him, she watched him duck low and stagger precariously as he crossed over her living room. Dreams shouldn’t be this vivid. Perhaps she’d had a brain hemorrhage.

  Well, who was she to argue with any one of those three scenarios? She had an enormous, beautiful dragon in her apartment, and if she was in a sugar-induced coma, she was going to make the most of it.

  “Can I use your bed?” His deep voice boomed in her small lounge.

  She flicked her hand in the direction of her bedroom and didn’t know whether to move out of the way or run to help as he swayed, a definite green hue rising up his neck. Figment of her imagination or not, there was no way she was allowing it to turn into a nightmare. She slapped a hand on her waist and shot out a hip, tilting her head to one side, and just so there was no mistake, she wagged a finger at him like she was telling teenagers to be quiet in the library.

  “If you hurl in my apartment, you can clean it up yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  As pathetic and remorseful as he sounded, she wondered if she’d treated the monster too harshly. Sympathy blossomed in her chest. She heaved a sigh and gestured for him to continue.

  He weaved his way through the opposite doorway, forced to dip his head low again. She stood motionless while she wondered whether to go after him. A loud whump followed by a resounding crunch decided her as she rushed through to check the damage.

  Aghast, she stared at the eleven-foot dragon who’d face-planted her bed, making three of the four legs collapse, and leaving it to sprawl at a drunken angle. The pretty pink daisies adorning her duvet cover looked strangely in keeping with his vibrant green as though the mystical creature had fallen from a book into a field of flowers.

  Warmth spread through her chest and gave her heart a sharp hitch. Compassionate voices cooed.

  She leaned against the doorframe and narrowed her eyes at him. It brought the word hunk to a whole different level. She scratched an itch on her neck and tilted her head. Interesting. She studied him for a moment longer before pushing away from the doorframe and moving closer; a wicked grin spread across her face. She remembered The Incredible Hulk TV series from when she was a little girl, and David Banner was always looking for his clothes when he shifted back to his human form.

  The Dane was going to wake up naked—and she wanted to be there to see.

  “Ginny?”

  “Jesus!” He’d nearly stopped her heart for the second time that night. She thought he was asleep.

  “No, I’m just a dragon.”

  “Funny. Not.”

  “Will you come and lie down with me?”

  She hesitated a long moment, until he moved and pinned her to the spot as he opened one huge emerald eye. Man or beast, he was just far too tempting.

  “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

  A dirty chuckle followed, muffled by the bedcovers. “Not unless you ask me nicely.”

  Fire raced to her hairline and burned her forehead. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Course you did. You can’t help your dirty little thoughts.”

  “No…” She felt the need to put him right, but his weary sigh stopped her mid-flow. The flutter of his lashes as he closed his eyes tempted her to stroke them with the tip of her finger, but she remained where she was at the side of the bed.

  “Ginny. I just want you to comfort me.” He rolled onto his side. Shudders wracked his body. “I can’t shift back to human form until the alcohol leaves my system. I need to sleep it off.”

  The heart he’d almost murdered flipped over and fell at his feet. She sighed. He was going to wake up naked in the morning and leave her. He’d break her mushy heart into squidgy little pieces.

  If it was a dream, she’d wake up alone anyhow.

  With a small shrug, she crawled across the bed on her hands and knees. Her stomach lurched as the whole thing rocked precariously, but she sidled closer to slip under his wing as he lifted it in invitation for her to snuggle tightly against him. Surprised by the warmth of his scales, she smoothed her hand over his chest and gazed at his beautiful markings. Her pulse tripped as his clawed hand reached for hers and encompassed it, pressing it to his heart.

  “Ginny?”

  “Yeah?” she sighed.

  “I really needed to be with you.” The satin touch of his wing skimmed her cheek and fluttered over her hair. This was exactly why she’d been unable to stay in the banshee realm. Her heart was too soft, too tender. And she knew for a certainty he was going to break it.

  She gave in to the temptation to skim her fingertips over his long eyelashes, compassion filling her soul. If it was a dream, she would take all the comfort she could from it.

  She scooted closer, wrapping her arms around him. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was a golden hue rippling over his scales, lighting them up to give an ethereal glow as he formed a cavern around her with his wings.

  •●•

  He blinked himself to awareness. His vision wavered drunkenly and then focused on perky floral wallpaper that almost incinerated his eyeballs. Pastel pinks, lime greens, and yellows assaulted his senses. He slammed his eyes shut, convinced he must have a migraine. He squeezed them open again and let his gaze roam the room. He was surrounded by useless-looking cushions in the same shades as the wallpaper. He flicked one off his head and heard the decorative beads rattle as it fell to the uneven floor. If he didn’t have a migraine before, he sure as hell was about to get one.

  Thick, cold sludge filled his fragile stomach, and the sharp contraction tightened his throat in defense. The vibrant wallpaper could possibly be responsible for that too. The heavy weight pressed on his chest restricting his breathing didn’t help.

  He tried to engage his brain. The last lucid thought tripping through his painful head was of an ugly woman who squirted oil on him and scraped harsh nails over his naked chest. Tempted to look at the damage, he cracked open his eyelids and peeped from between his lashes. Shit. His worst nightmare. Not only was he in the woman’s bed, but the pressure on his chest was her, wrapped tightly around him like she was never going to let him go.

  He drew in a long breath—froze as the woman moved. The sweet smell of lilies assailed his nostrils and shimmered sweet memories through his senses. He stared at the top of her head as she nuzzled her cheek into his chest and heated his loins with unnatural enthusiasm considering the state of his brain. Concern at the uninvited response encouraged him to move. The only woman he responded to like that was Ginny. Perhaps the alcohol had confused his sensory perception as well as his brain.

  Straight white-blonde hair trailed thick and lush over his skin. Relief and desire combined together to blaze a hot trail and warm his blood. It was Ginny. Clothed in pajamas, she sprawled on top of him while his arms naturally snuggled her in tight.

  His mind refused to engage. Still dredging through thick clouds, it faltered, confused and lethargic. How had he managed to get there?

  His body didn’t have the same dilemma. His hard shaft bobbed, nudged between Ginny’s cotton-clad thighs, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head with the intense pleasure of her closeness, his breath lodged in his throat. Her tiny kitten mewl had him praying for mercy.

  She wriggled against him; her lips grazed his nipple, and he ground his teeth, unable to bear the contact any longer without being inside her. He rolled to his side, allowed her body to slip off his, and regretted the loss of her closeness. He sympathized with her moan of protest, but he needed to understand what had happened.

  Thick oily nausea still rolled through his stomach and encouraged him to move away from her. Puzzled at the peculiar skew of the bed he’d originally attributed to his hangover, he perused the angle of the room as he reached backward with one foot, trying to find the edge of the mattress.

  “Matt?”

  Warm and husky, her voice melted his heart. She raised her head. The clear, bright cerulean of an early morning sky met his eyes.

  “Shit.”

 
His foot encountered nothing but fresh air. The jerk of his body rocked the bed precariously in seesaw fashion and had him flailing for a moment before he flipped backward off the edge to hit the floor. Pain radiated through his shoulder while every bit of air whooshed from his lungs. All thoughts of an amorous encounter jolted from his tender innards as the bed swayed back to its original position.

  A piercing squeal almost burst his eardrums. He tracked his gaze along the drunken slew of the bed just as slender fingers grasped the mattress. Ginny hauled herself up to peer over the edge of the mattress at him. Big eyes filled with compassion warmed his heart.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  He bolted upright, coming nose to nose with her. Heat flooded him as her eyes took a lazy perusal of his very naked body.

  “Do you mind? You make me feel like a sex object.”

  A sweet, innocent smile plastered her luscious lips. “Not in the least. I’m developing.”

  He considered if she developed any more, she’d be a danger to all mankind.

  A silken lock of her hair slipped from her shoulder to dangle in front of his face and glow bright white. Sorely tempted to stroke it, he sat up straight and draped his arm between his legs to stop her from staring at his obvious arousal. She simply moved her attention to his chest. Her sweet tongue made an appearance and gave a subtle swipe of her lips, leaving them pink and shiny and him hard and horny.

  He circled his free hand to indicate the bed. “What happened?”

  She gave him a smile. “Some huge monster belly flopped on it and broke it.”

  “Oh.” He tried to trail through memories of the night before, but his mind was empty. Absolutely nothing registered from the moment he stood on the stage. He had no knowledge of how he’d gotten there, and less idea of why Ginny had let him in. Stranger still was the fact that he was naked, and she wasn’t.

  Giving in to temptation, he reached out to stroke the smooth sheen of her hair dangling in front of his face.

  “You owe me a bed, bud.”

  “Me?” Insult warred with confusion. What had they been up to, and worse still, why didn’t he remember the night before? Had he taken advantage of her? If he had, he felt certain he would have remembered, and surely he wouldn’t feel so desperate to have her again already. He surveyed the destruction of her bed. On second thought, he was always going to want her, no matter how many times he had her.