The Stone Warriors: Dragan

by D. B. Reynolds

  When she emerged some time later—having done all the brushing and washing she could think of to delay the inevitable—the room was barely lit, with only the single, small lamp between the beds still on. Dragan was stretched out on his bed as usual, wearing nothing but sweatpants, arms behind his head, and covers shoved to the bottom of the bed. She doubted the pose was intentional, but it served to highlight the breadth of that fabulous chest, the ripped leanness of his abdomen, and his powerfully muscled arms. She would have stared, but his eyes were open, following her movements as she hung up her clothes and the jacket she’d tossed aside earlier. As usual, she was covered practically neck to ankle in loose-fitting sweats, which seemed like overkill since they’d actually slept in the same bed last night. But even though she was completely relaxed when they spent hours together in the car and ate all their meals together, somehow the presence of a bed brought out all her insecurities. Because well, he was Dragan, while she was a fucking virgin.

  Hah! A fucking virgin. She’d made a pun. Terrific.

  “We can sleep together again, if you’d like,” his deep voice said from behind her. “I’m good at chasing away nightmares for the people I love.”

  Maeve sucked in a shocked breath. Love? Did he mean. . . . No, of course not. He meant brotherly love, sisterly . . . whatever. After all, they’d held hands earlier, and friends did that. And they’d been through a lot together. That alone made them friends.

  “You sure?” she asked, turning to face him. “I mean, you don’t—”

  “Come on, I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know that,” she assured quickly. Bad enough that she was totally crushing on him. It would be so much worse if he thought she was worried he’d attack her. How insulting would that be? And with them committed to remaining together for at least the next several days, they’d both be miserable.

  He lifted one powerful arm in invitation. “You can pull up the sheet if you’re cold.” There was laughter in his voice when he said it, and that, more than anything, got her moving. They were friends, and both wearing clothes, for God’s sake. Hell, she was swathed up like a nun. And besides, they’d slept side by side the previous night and nothing had happened. Damn it.

  “Okay.” She moved quickly, before she could change her mind, covering the short distance between their beds in a single step, and slipping under the sheet he’d pulled up, as promised. His outstretched arm curled around her, pulling her into the heat of his body, tugging her head against his shoulder. Maeve had never slept with anyone except him, and wasn’t sure where to put her limbs. But Dragan did the work for her, pulling her free arm across his chest, while the other was curled between them. Her legs kept wanting to slide over his, but that seemed too intimate. She kept them straight as a soldier’s, but couldn’t avoid their close contact from shoulder to knee. And ultimately, she decided she didn’t want to. He was so big and warm, so beautifully built, so . . . Dragan.

  She wanted to touch him. He was all the excitement and adventure of the last few days, but at the same time, so much more than that—smart, kind, and so very caring of her. She didn’t just want to touch him, she wanted him in a way she’d never wanted anyone else. Even knowing she was opening herself up for a hurt that dwarfed her stupid college boyfriend, she didn’t want to stop. Because she couldn’t imagine ever finding those feelings again. When they parted ways—which they would, of course—she’d miss him so fiercely. He was in her heart, and when he left, he’d take a piece of that fragile organ with him. A piece she’d never grow back.

  “Dragan,” she said softly. So softly that she wasn’t absolutely sure she wanted him to hear.

  “Mae.” He hugged her tightly, before running his hand down the length of her arm and up again.

  She swallowed nervously, but forced herself to forge ahead. They’d be in Florida tomorrow, and maybe even find Nicodemus the next day. This, tonight, might be her only chance. And if she didn’t take it, she’d regret it forever. “Can I kiss you?” she whispered.

  He stiffened against her. She immediately regretted asking, and opened her mouth to apologize. But in the next instant, he’d pulled her halfway over his chest, putting them face to face, so he could meet her gaze.

  “Come here,” he crooned. And then he was kissing her. With one arm around her back holding her against him, the other curled around the nape of her neck, his hand so big that his thumb was caressing her jaw, he positioned her just as he wanted when their mouths met.

  Maeve was in heaven. She’d never known a kiss could be like this. His lips were firm, but ever so gentle as they moved over hers, as he coaxed her lips apart and slid his tongue between them to glide over her teeth, twisting gently around her tongue, urging her to dance with his. She followed his lead, not knowing what else to do, wanting to get closer to feel more of what he was doing.

  She protested when he broke their contact and lifted his mouth away, but when she tried to kiss him again, he resisted, saying, “Breathe.”

  She realized she was panting, that she hadn’t drawn a breath since that most wonderful kiss had begun. She licked her lips, and saw his eyes drop to follow the motion. “Dragan?” she whispered.

  His eyes lifted to meet hers. “All recovered?” he asked, his voice deeper somehow, almost a growl.

  She nodded, unable to look away, as if he held her in place with his gaze.

  “Mae?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m . . .” she nodded, “. . . recovered.”

  He smiled, slow and hungry—the look of a predator who’d caught his prey. “Good.”

  And then he was kissing her again, rolling her beneath him, his arms bracketing her head as he nibbled and tasted at will, starting with her mouth and moving to her cheeks where he kissed and licked his way down to her neck. Maeve was overwhelmed with sensation, not knowing where to put her arms, but needing to hold on for fear of flying away. This had to be a dream. He was nothing like the boys she’d kissed in high school, nothing at all like her supposed boyfriend.

  Dragan’s kiss was intoxicating, and when he shifted to suck at her neck, it sent waves of desire flowing through her entire body. Her nipples had tightened to painful peaks that screamed with sensation at even the soft brush of her t-shirt. And the rest of her body . . . she didn’t know what she was feeling. Her thighs were clenched, trying to soothe an ache between them that was more powerful than anything she’d felt before. Not even her regular bouts of masturbation had produced this kind of pleasure. And she was so wet that if she hadn’t checked out enough online porn to explain it, she’d have worried about wetting herself in excitement.

  One of Dragan’s strong hands stroked down to cup her butt and press her against him. She gasped at the feel of his cock against her thigh. It wasn’t just hard, it was big. Long and thick and, yes, hard, too.

  “Dragan,” she whispered, touching his cheek.

  His eyes opened. “You okay?”

  She nodded again. “Yes, yes, but . . .” Oh, God, she was going to have to tell him. Thank God she was on birth control, at least. Hope springs eternal and it had finally paid off, because a condom run would have been the cherry (ha ha) on the cake of her embarrassment.

  She screwed up her courage and blurted, “I’ve never . . . oh God. I’ve never done this.”

  He froze. “This?” he rasped. “As in . . .” he pressed her hand to his hardness, “. . . that?”

  “Yes?” she said in a small voice. “I mean, I want to, but I thought you should know . . .”

  His eyes closed, and for a moment she thought he was angry. Guys did that. Got angry when they were all riled up, and then had to stop. But when Dragan’s eyes finally opened, they were warm and full of affection.

  Rolling them both over, he lay once more on his back and pulled her against his chest, the way they’d been when they’d started kissing. Da
mn it. She knew that telling him would be a deal breaker. But better this than the alternative, she supposed. Surprising him would have been worse.

  “Did I ever tell you about the village I grew up in?”

  “No,” she said, startled and somewhat puzzled, since that was about the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I mean, you told me some, but . . .”

  “I was a king’s son. I told you that.”

  She nodded. “But you weren’t raised as one.”

  “No. My father never even claimed me, though my mother was his queen.” He was silent for a heartbeat, then, “That meant I had nothing to offer a woman in the way of home and family. I owned nothing, I stood to inherit nothing, and my odds of living to a ripe old age were not good. My life was battle. Nothing else.”

  Maeve rubbed his chest, offering what support she could, but she was still puzzled why he was telling her these things at this moment.

  “No father came to offer me his daughter’s hand in marriage. No woman begged her father to do so.”

  “You were alone?” she whispered. “Always?

  He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Not always,” he said quietly. “Women snuck into my bed. Married women who found no satisfaction with their husbands for the most part. They came to me after dark and left before morning, lest anyone see where they’d been.”

  Her hand fisted on his chest, anger choking her on his behalf. “Bitches,” she muttered.

  His arm briefly tightened around her, as if in thanks for her support. “I couldn’t blame them. I truly didn’t have anything to offer, other than—”

  “Yourself!” she asserted.

  He chuckled. “Thank you for that. Though they cared only that I had some skill in bed and was willing to serve them. But you know, sweet Mae . . . ” His fingers combed gently through her long hair. “No woman has ever gifted me with her maidenhood.”

  Could this be any more embarrassing? “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’ve dated . . . a few times, but it just never happened.”

  “You mistake me, sweet Mae. I want you, and I intend to have you, if you’re willing. But we will go slowly. We will savor every kiss . . . ” He rolled her under him once more and took her mouth—slow and warm, with lots of tongue—before lifting his head. “ . . . every taste of your soft skin . . . ” He licked and sucked her neck, as his hands slid under her t-shirt to run his thumbs over the underside of her breasts. “. . . every slow stroke, every tormenting touch.” One hand moved up to cup her breast fully, thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple tightly before pinching the puckered peak just to the point of pain, but not beyond.

  She gasped in pleasure, her back arching in a way that thrust her breasts against his hands, seeking more.

  “You like that?” he growled against her neck, a moment before his teeth closed over the soft lobe of her ear.

  Maeve cried out, but not in pain. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “Yes. Please.”

  With a final squeeze, he slid his hand from her breasts, to the flat of her belly and down even farther, slipping beneath the loose waistband of her sweatpants, rough fingertips coasting along the elastic lace of her panties and then dipping beneath those, too. Maeve’s heart was thundering in anticipation and, to be honest, a little bit of fear. But not enough to stop this beautiful man from doing anything he wanted to her body. His fingers threaded the neat patch of curls between her legs, and then his bold hand was cupping her pussy, palm pressed hard against her clitoris, that sensitive bundle of nerves that only she had ever fondled before, as she lay frustrated in her solitary bed.

  She was still processing that intimate touch, breathing too fast as she absorbed the lightning strike sensation of his palm on her clit, when he slid a thick finger between the swollen lips of her pussy, and into the tight clasp of her body. Maeve groaned, her hand gripping his muscled arm, short nails digging into his skin. She felt every inch of his finger’s glide into her soaking wet channel, the intrusion seeming four times thicker than it was. And it was all wonderful. Her hips rose up to meet his hand, wanting more, wanting faster. But he kept his own pace, gliding his finger in and out slowly, adding a second finger when her pussy juices covered his hand and trailed down her thighs.

  She groaned, already so full, so tight, and tried to imagine having his cock inside her instead. Her inner muscles flexed in anticipation, sending a wave of erotic pleasure coursing through her abdomen, rolling up over her torso to make her breasts ache so much that she’d have sworn his mouth was on her nipples, sucking and biting. And just the idea of that, the anticipation of the wet heat of his mouth on her breasts, sent a fresh wave of desire storming through her body, swelling her already engorged clit, until she came with a shocked cry that spilled into their kiss, every delicious sensation reflected in clashing teeth and torn lips, until blood mingled between them.

  Maeve lay in his arms, heart pounding so hard that her breasts trembled with every beat. It wasn’t her first orgasm. She’d gotten quite good at masturbation. But hell, she’d never had one that good. If she’d known a man could make that much difference, she’d have given it up a long time ago. Though, she had to admit, she doubted any of the young men she’d dated could have come close to Dragan. For one thing, she’d never cared that much about any of them. Not the way she did him. She was beginning to understand, in a way she could no longer deny, that when he left her, she was going to end up with something she’d never considered before—a broken heart.

  His arm tightened around her without warning, as he turned, pulling her onto his chest. “I can hear that big brain of yours spinning.” He brushed his mouth over her lips. “Don’t worry, Mae. I don’t expect anything more from you.”

  “No,” she protested, pushing up to see his face better. “I don’t mind. I love—” She sucked back the word before she embarrassed them both. “I want to be here, right here, with you.”

  He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She caught the scent of her own arousal on them and blushed furiously, but he only kissed her forehead and settled her back down on his chest.

  “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Her eyes closed at the soft assurance, and lulled by his strong arms around her, and the intense heat of his body, she drifted to sleep.

  DRAGAN CAUGHT THE upward curve of Maeve’s lips as her body relaxed into sleep, and felt something crack open in the black thing that was his soul. Hope, optimism for the future—emotions he’d walled up so long ago that he’d forgotten they existed. But he knew where these came from. It was Maeve, his very own fountain of laughter and insatiable curiosity, with her driving need to know, to understand the how and why of everything she encountered. A lifetime of loneliness, millennia of the worst sort of imprisonment . . . it all fell away in that moment. He wanted to be with her. Wanted to see the world through her eyes. But what did he have to give her in return? Nothing. Worse than nothing. Yes, he could destroy any vampires who attacked her, but that was hardly a major concern. She’d gone her entire life without encountering a single vampire, until she’d met him. He’d made her less safe, not more. And while he was a skilled lover, he doubted a good orgasm was sufficient compensation for endangering her life.

  He stared into the dark room, with its shards of yellow light down one side of the drapes, and struggled to find a way ahead for both of them. He loved his Mae, but could he keep her? Better yet, should he?

  The Sonoran Desert, Mexico

  SOTIRIS WAS ALL but rubbing his hands together as Ramiro began their return trip north far sooner than he’d dare hope. He’d lucked onto a motherlode of vampires the previous night. Ramiro had steered him toward a well-armed village he knew of, expecting to find no one but the master vampire who controlled the place. Instead, they’d discovered master vamps from all over the immediate region, gathered together in one place for who knew or cared
what reason. If they were arrogant enough to huddle together, then he was going to take advantage of it.

  It had taken more time, and a lot more of his personal power, to subdue so many of them at once, but he’d managed it with his usual aplomb, casting a wicked blast of power that knocked out half the people in the village, including the vampires who’d been meeting in a single, barn-like structure that had smelled of marijuana and sweat. With Sotiris standing by like the devil himself waiting to draw their souls into hell—he’d only had to incinerate two of the local men to convince them of the danger—Ramiro had bullied those civilians who’d been unaffected by the initial blast into setting up a vampire assembly line to charge the device.

  It had taken past daylight to finish every vampire, but since the barn had sheltered them, sunrise had posed no problem. If anything, it had made them easier to handle, since he hadn’t had to worry about them recovering from his first attack before he could hook them to his device. Unfortunately, Ramiro had also fallen into his daylight sleep, which had been inconvenient, to say the least. But by then, the villagers had been so thoroughly cowed and dedicated to the process, that they’d finished off the transfer and buried what was left of the bodies. Which wasn’t much. Once you drained whatever power a vampire possessed, he died. If the vampire was old enough, he dusted, just as he would normally.

  He’d spent the rest of a boring day in the master vamp’s own house, eating what food there was and drinking his wine—it wasn’t as if he was going to need it anymore, Sotiris thought with a chuckle. But now he and Ramiro were heading northward once more. Along with a device that was full to the brim with magical power just waiting to be used.

  He’d have to return to New York first, to give the fully-powered device a final diagnostic. There could be no error when it came to his upcoming presentation.