by Anne Renwick
“No mention of me or Zia?” She slid the needle through his skin. A second stitch. It steadied her nerves to count them.
“None.” His teeth gritted against the pain, and he fell silent.
Luke had taken pains to cover his tracks and would worry he’d led the man to her gate. On that count she could reassure him. “Michael—Misha Ivanov—arrived in town a few months ago, perhaps a week or two before Lord Kinross’s death. He can’t have learned about my presence from you.”
“Thank aether.”
Three. Four. It was done. She tied a knot. Blotted the wound once more, then wrapped a strip of cloth about his bare arm. Only then did she allow her mind to churn. Rathail’s hunter and now a Russian spy. First one, then the other. She voiced her suspicion aloud. “If Rathail made it known that he would soon come into possession of a Russian Mountain Dragon…”
“Word might have reached Russian ears.” Luke swore. She agreed with every profane word that fell from his lips. “Easy enough to send an agent to investigate,” he continued, “to dally with the castle’s pretty, young housekeeper.”
With the recent financial difficulties and Lord Kinross’s death, Natalia could well understand Aileen’s hopes for marriage. Who wouldn’t want to flee? “She was an easy target.”
“Ivanov’s Scottish brogue is very convincing,” Luke agreed.
She frowned. In two months’ time, Ivanov had made no move against Zia. Or her. Or even Rathail’s man. Had Luke not stumbled across him in the woods, his presence would have remained undiscovered. What could he possibly—
“Come.” She turned on her heel and strode though the great hall to her laboratory. Zia’s head lifted, her golden eyes tracking her movement as Natalia rushed across the room to yank open a drawer. Safe. Papa’s notes were safe. Only then did she realize she was shaking. She’d not bothered to secure them. No one here knew about the experiment, and they were written in Cyrillic. But a Russian now lurked outside her castle, quietly insinuating himself into Aileen’s life. A dragon and a person might not be easily transported, but a handful of research notes? Easily pilfered by a lovestruck housekeeper.
That explained Aileen’s tremulous overtures. She was terrified of Zia, especially after Lord Kinross’s grisly death, and for the past six weeks, the dragon had rarely left the laboratory. Ivanov had convinced Aileen—against every instinct—to befriend the dragon that guarded the secrets he wished to steal. Or perhaps just to copy. Why go through the effort of dragging home two fugitives if the science was unsound? She wasn’t safe, not even inside her own home, not when Aileen could be so easily seduced.
“Natalia?” Luke’s voice was soft, concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“No, but I—” She turned, about to share her revelation, but lost her voice. Luke had closed the door to the laboratory and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. She stared at the hollow of his bare throat. How much time did they have left to them? Alone? With a bedchamber only a flight of stairs away? “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t. But it could wait a little bit longer. A few inches deeper, and his wound would have been far, far more serious. She watched, her mouth dry, as the two halves of his shirt fell apart, while he peeled the ruined garment from his torso and tossed it upon the flames of the fire burning steadily in the grate.
Kinross, for all his superior breeding, hadn’t been a gentleman at all. While not cruel, he’d cared not a whit for her pleasure, only his, and what it bought him. Her first time with a man had been a disappointment.
It had, however, been enlightening. Luke—she was absolutely certain—wouldn’t leave her bed before she was well and truly satisfied.
“Natalia?” Heat crept into his voice.
“Mmm.” She licked her lips, unable to tear her gaze away from his bare chest where, despite his illness, muscles still rippled as he prowled across the room to stand before her. His trousers hung low upon his hips, a sheathed sword still strapped to his belt.
“You’re staring as if you’ve never seen a man’s chest before.” A corner of his mouth twitched upward, and his dark eyes flashed.
She hadn’t. Not really. Removal of clothing wasn’t necessary to consummate a marriage. But this was about pleasure, about their mutual desire, and she wanted to see him.
“An entire year, fencing a hot, sweaty man, and not once did he ever remove his shirt.” She ran an experimental fingertip over the curve of his clavicle, and he stepped closer.
“You were married.” He brushed his lips across hers.
A shiver of longing ran across her skin, humming as it dove deeper and sparked every nerve ending to life. Her breath came quicker. “No longer an obstacle. But your wounded arm might be.”
“It’s fine.” Another kiss, this time to the corner of her mouth, then to the edge of her jaw. Soft and teasing. “Besides, I’ve waited years to touch you.” Broad hands landed upon her hips, pulling her snug against his obvious desire. “There’s no reason we need wait for darkness to fall, not when I want to explore every inch of your skin. Slowly.”
Every inch. She swallowed and pushed at his chest. Something fluttered low in her stomach. It was time, time to uncover her secret. “Wait.”
He tensed. But he stepped back, his eyes questioning. “I thought—”
“Correctly.” Rising onto her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “But there’s something you need to see first. Come.” She lifted her father’s notebook from the drawer then, without meeting his gaze, climbed the stairs to her bedchamber and dropped the yellowed pages upon the table. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath, praying he wouldn’t recoil in horror.
She turned about to find Luke waiting patiently, despite his frown and the questions written across his face. He lifted an eyebrow as she untied the knot of her scarf.
“I don’t wear it to honor tradition.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled it from her neck and turned away, exposing her nape, allowing him to gaze upon the strange scales that grew from her skin. Shaking, she awaited judgment. This was a moment of truth. Would he be repulsed?
“Aether,” he breathed. “How? Why?”
She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing except curiosity and awe. “The real reason I had to flee Russia.” How to sum up such a defining moment in a few succinct words? “I fell from the cliffs—dragon egg hunting—and broke my neck.”
“Broke?”
“I never would have walked again, save my father refused to let me die. When one of the eggs hatched, he broke every rule and took an enormous risk, collecting and transplanting cells he isolated from the extraembryonic membranes that remained behind inside the dragon’s eggshell. Stem cells, he called them, undifferentiated cells capable of becoming, repairing… anything.”
“And it worked.” Luke let out a low whistle as he moved closer. “Impressive. May I touch?”
She nodded, relieved he didn’t consider them an aberration of nature.
The rough pad of his finger skimmed across a scale, sending a shiver down her spine. “You can feel that?”
“Yes. They’re a part of my skin, a part of me.” She held her breath, waiting. “Most of them are clustered about the lower cervical vertebrae—where the grafting took place—but dragon stem cells possess a migratory inclination…”
“There are more?” His warm lips pressed against the scattering of scales at her nape, sending a rush of heat through her entire body. “Might I resume explorations?”
Still worried, she half-turned in his arms, studying his face. “If you’re certain you wish to continue.”
A low laugh escaped him, his breath hot on her neck. “Never doubt it, Natalia.” His fingers released one of the clasps that held her corset closed. “I’ll have questions later.” Another fell open. And another. “Many.” The leather parted, hanging from its narrow straps at her shoulders. “But for now, my only goal is to make you pant my nam
e while you—”
“Luke,” she whispered as he flicked open the button of her waistband and tugged her chemise free. His palm skimmed upward over the soft curve of her stomach, her ribs, until he cupped the weight of her breast.
“It’s a start,” he murmured against her neck, then nipped at her skin. “But I’m aiming for a much louder cry.” He raised both arms at once, pulling off her chemise and corset vest in one smooth motion. His fingers trailed down her vertebrae, one by one, following the path of the dragon scales. “So beautiful, my dragon lady.”
Beautiful?
With a soft laugh, she turned to face him and began to toy with the buttons that held the fall of his trousers closed. “You find them… attractive?”
“Incredibly.” His voice was low and rough. “They’re a part of you.”
She loved him so much, had missed him so much. “When you didn’t return—”
“You were in my thoughts every single day.” He caught her lips for a long, slow kiss. “Never daring to hope you would ever be free.” His fingers stabbed into her hair, into the braided twist wrapped about her crown. “That you could ever be mine.”
“Not free, perhaps,” she whispered. “But yours ever since you first lifted a blade against me.”
With a low rumble of a laugh, he brought his mouth down. Their next kiss was hard, possessive, a tangle of tongues as they claimed each other.
Slowly, step by step, he walked backward. Until he bumped into the base of her bed. Large, soft and canopied. But there would be no drawing the curtains closed.
He moved away, pulling off boots, stockings, trousers while she did the same. She stared, taking in the magnificent length of his member as it sprang free, dark curls at its root. Reaching, she cupped the sac that hung beneath. With a low growl, his arms were around her, tumbling her onto the mattress, naked, as they gave themselves over to hunger and need. The peaked tips of her breasts brushed the crisp hairs of his chest as she shoved her fingers into this thick hair and kissed him with all the passion she’d locked away for over three years. The press of his hard length against her soft thigh left her breathless and wanting oh so much more.
She slid her hands down his back, admiring the tight muscles that flexed beneath his firm skin—until she grasped his buttocks. Spreading her legs, she dug her nails into their flesh and yanked him closer.
The low groan from the back of his throat let her know he approved of her touch. And yet he pulled away, trailing kisses down her body, his lips sucking at the tips of her breasts, teeth nipping at their tips before nibbling lower, ever closer to that pulsing, aching center between her thighs. He spread her legs wider.
“Luke!” she cried, when he parted her folds, taking her in his mouth, his tongue stroking her small sensitive nub as his hands slid up and down her thighs.
So close. So close, and yet she wanted—needed—more. She pushed at his shoulders, tugging at his hair until he lifted his face, his eyes glassy. “Luke, please. I want you in me. Now.”
He crawled up her body, his eyes hungry, and braced his heavy weight on his elbows. She wound her arms around him and pulled him to her, closing her eyes to commit the feel of his body to memory. He notched his cock against her wet opening and she slid her legs upward about him, wrapping them about his hips. A hot, thick pressure pushed into her. Slowly, easing into her channel, deeper and deeper still. Stretching her.
She looked up into his eyes and saw tightly wound control, self-restraint balanced on a knife’s edge. He was giving her body time to adjust, treating her as if she were fragile. But it only made the need build, made her want more. She flexed her hips, and he moved deeper inside of her. Such exquisite fullness.
Then he cupped her face, took her lips with his and began to move inside her. Gently at first, then thrusting harder, faster. Spirals of pleasure circled around and through her body, their coils tightening. Gasping, she tore her mouth away to focus on the need gathering where they joined, where friction built to glorious heights as he drove into her again and again.
With a sudden flash, fire ignited, racing across her skin, sending her entire body into an exquisite convulsion. “Luke!” Spasms tore through her as she ground her core against him, dragging forth every last ounce of pleasure of her climax.
Poised above her, the muscles of Luke’s neck and arms strained as he drove into her chasing his own release. Beautiful and all hers. With a roar, he thrust deeply, once, twice, then pulled free, spending himself—hot and wet—upon her belly.
Sated, relaxed and happy, Luke lay beside her, relieved he’d had the presence of mind to withdraw. Taking her to bed had been everything he’d ever dared hope for. But still he wanted more, wanted her for himself, this amazing woman. He never wanted to let her go. But his would be a short forever. She deserved a chance to change her mind, to leave—unencumbered—should his condition become too much to bear. Already, the cut to his arm ached more than it ought, a reminder that this lifespan would be short.
He’d followed Natalia up the curving stairs, distracted by the alluring sway of her hips, without the vaguest notion of what she was about to reveal. Dragon scales. A side effect of a miraculous treatment. She’d broken her neck, but lived, even walked again, her health completely restored. Already he’d been breathless with anticipation, but to find she hid yet more wonders had stolen away his last breath.
“Twenty-one months and twenty-three days,” Natalia whispered.
No accusation surfaced in her voice, rather a wistfulness, reminding them of all the time they’d lost. He pulled her against his side and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I should have told you, even though you would have threatened to run me through.” He’d been so naïve, so confident as he left on his quest. “I wanted to take advantage of the summer months. To fetch a dragon, then return with my prize for the lady of the castle.” For the woman he loved but could never have, not completely.
“But the Department of Cryptozoology turned you down.” Natalia frowned. “As they should have.”
“They did.” He cringed at the memory. “Repeatedly. But I kept pleading the case for establishing a dragon sanctuary on British soil and, eventually, my supervisor agreed to let me go. An unofficial and deniable one-man expedition into Russia.” He’d left immediately. A boat to St. Petersburg. A train—via Moscow—to Perm. From there hiking into the mountains.
His mind drifted back to the raw beauty of the pine-covered mountains, to the quaint villages tucked in their valleys. Carrying his gear upon his back, he’d slept in the wilderness, enjoying the solitude, the freedom, traveling by foot into the peaks of the Urals.
“I found a cave. A mother with two dragonets scampering about her feet. Young, but too old to easily transport to Scotland.” Quietly, carefully, he’d backed away from the cave. “Armed men swooped in. Too many to fight.” He closed his eyes. “They killed the mother, penned the dragonets. Perhaps I should be grateful I was not killed as well.”
He opened his eyes to find her above him, her blue eyes bright with passion. “I, for one, am grateful that you were not.”
During his captivity, he’d often lost hope and simply wished for it all to end. “But for thoughts of you, I might have given up. I was no better than a laboratory rat.” He brushed a hand over the surface of her braid. She claimed it kept her hair up and out of the way, but Luke thought of it as her golden, shimmering crown. He’d not yet had the pleasure of uncoiling, unbraiding its twists. Imagining the glory of such hair spread across her shoulders as she rode atop him made his groin stir with approval.
“Go on.” Captivated by his story, she searched his eyes for more.
Doing his best to ignore the soft press of her bare breasts against his chest, he continued. “After they decided I knew nothing of interest, I was injected with an unknown pathogen, thrown in solitary confinement, and left to endure the fevers that followed. From time to time, they would drag me into the infi
rmary and I would catch glimpses of the two dragonets in cages, miserable and defeated, their blood used for a scattering of ‘treatments’ that did little to improve my condition. I lost track of time.”
A tear ran down her cheek. “Finish,” she whispered.
“There’s not much more to tell.” He offered her a faint smile. Delirious with fevers half the time, much of the time had been a painful blur. “My Russian improved. A little. Enough to understand that this past winter a spy was captured in Germany. Secrets had been spilled, and an entire research facility north of Moscow had to be shut down. As a precaution, all biotechnological research was being relocated.” Her eyes widened for she had worked within the extensive network of corridors and rooms that comprised the Ural Zavód. “In the chaos an opportunity presented itself. I left a man for dead. And escaped with a dragon.”
“Dimitri Kravchuk,” she said, her voice flat. “Good.”
“You were to marry him.” Luke seethed at the thought. What had the man done?
“I was young and foolish.” Her face contorted as she rolled away to sit upon the edge of the mattress. “Not once did he visit me after the… accident. Not so much as to hold my hand while the village doctor informed my father there was nothing to do but measure his daughter for a coffin.”
Letting out a low hiss from between his teeth, Luke pushed himself upright and wrapped his arms about her, glad he’d ended the man’s life.
She turned her teary-eyed face toward him. “Any love he professed was a lie. Or secondary to his desire for advancement. My father broke the rules to save me, and Dimitri reported him. The treatment had worked, and we had to flee. Lest he end in prison, and me under a microscope.”
Much as Luke had. “Dimitri, did you love him?”
“No.” She shook her head. “My father wished for me to marry his protégé. There was no one who had captured my heart, so I agreed.” A tear slid down her cheek. “But for his actions, my father would still be alive.”