“So wet,” he whispered. “Hot and slick. I’m going to take you, Mae.” He pressed his big cock against her ass, and she had a moment of panic. She didn’t think she was ready for anal. She opened her mouth to say so, but the only thing that came out was a long, low groan of pleasure as he plunged a second finger into her pussy, while his thumb continued its hard pressure on her clit.
“Dragan,” she moaned, and the sound was so needy, she could hardly believe it came from her lips. Reaching up, she circled her fingers around the back of his neck, then turned her head, searching for his lips.
When he lowered his mouth to hers, his touch was slow and languorous, while he took tiny nibbling bites of her lips. She cried out when the rhythm of his fingers increased, going faster and faster to match the growing passion of their kiss. Maeve tightened her grip on his neck and held on against a tidal wave of sensation, until he crushed her clit beneath his thumb, and she orgasmed so hard that she felt it deep inside, as if her womb itself was flexing in rhythm with the waves of pleasure rolling up and over her body. His mouth caught her shocked cry, drinking it in as his hand shifted to stroke over her thigh and push it forward, while he tightened his grip around her.
She felt the hard press of his cock as he urged her to bend forward, as his fingers, still slick and wet with her juices, slipped over the curve of her ass and between her legs, to penetrate her from behind. Maeve gasped, barely catching her breath before his cock took the place of his fingers and plunged deep into her pussy, stretching tender tissues, and filling her so full that she didn’t know how he could go any deeper. But he did, with one hand around her shoulders, and the other flat on her belly to hold her in place as he fucked her with long unhurried strokes, moving in and out in a luscious glide of unyielding demand into her soft and welcoming sex, his breath hot against her neck as he held her firmly against him.
Her own breathing grew more frantic, blowing in and out in time with his, the demand and passion of his thrusts growing harder, faster . . . until he gave a harsh groan and came in a frenzy of wet heat that sent her over the edge to join him as he fell.
He held her while the rhythm of their hearts slowed to normal and their breaths evened out, their naked bodies slick and hot where they met. He moved, putting a fraction of an inch between them, just enough to let their damp skin cool, while his arms remained around her.
“I think I like it that way,” she said when she could speak again.
“Think?” he grumbled. “Maybe we should practice more.”
She smiled and murmured an agreeable, “Okay,” which made him laugh and hold her closer as they both drifted off into a morning nap.
Nearly two hours later, Maeve stretched awake as she sat up behind Dragan and rested her head on his broad back. She would have liked to pull him down and spend the day as they had the morning—sex and a nap—but reality was becoming a loud gong in her head. Their little interlude of normalcy in Orlando had been wonderful. She’d been almost able to convince herself it was real, for short periods of time. But she knew Sotiris well enough to fear he wouldn’t give up. Not for her, but for Dragan. He’d seemed obsessed with the statue, though hardly rational, she considered. Maybe he wouldn’t care, after all. Not enough to track them down, anyway. She didn’t know if he still possessed the kind of power he’d used to trap the warriors in the first place. She was only just beginning to understand the very basics of magic. She had no idea what the various levels of power were, or if that kind of magic still existed. Dragan had said something about magic being thin in this world, so there’d be no reason for Sotiris to waste time and energy searching for them. She frowned, sensing she was trying to convince herself more than seek the truth. Fighting that urge, she replayed what she knew about Sotiris, which wasn’t all that much. He was covetous of the things he collected, always looking for more. He had some extraordinary pieces, and yet no one ever saw them but him—and the monthly cleaning staff, she supposed. But she was sure he didn’t count them as worthy of his notice.
If she thought about Dragan as part of Sotiris’s collection, as something that had been stolen from him . . . yeah, she could see how he might stop at nothing to get it back. Not because he valued Dragan as an individual, but because he was his, and he didn’t share. But Dragan wasn’t a statue anymore. He couldn’t be collected. He’d fight back, and she’d help him.
Dragan’s hold shifted as he moved against her back, his hands sliding along her arms to rest their linked hands over her belly. She glanced down with a smile, noting the contrast between them—his arms and hands were golden brown, with white scars down his forearms, and crisscrossing his knuckles like pale lines of marble. While she. . . . Wait! Her breath caught in her throat. The rock. What if Sotiris wasn’t chasing Dragan, or not only Dragan? What if he wanted his damn rock back?
“Dragan, did Sotiris ever steal something . . . big from Nico? I don’t mean size-wise, but magic. Something magically powerful.”
His powerful shoulders shrugged, moving her up and down in his embrace. “Not that I know of, but they knew each other long before I came to serve Nico.” He paused. “Why do you ask, Mae?”
She patted his arm and rose from the bed, going over to her pack to retrieve the rock. “I’d forgotten about this,” she said, opening the box to show it to him. “I took this rock from the room with all the knives and stuff, the one where you found Nico’s . . . short sword. Do you recognize it?”
“No,” he murmured, but he stared intently at the thing. “It has power, but . . . nothing I recognize. Why do you believe it’s powerful enough to be important?”
“Because Sotiris had double security on it, and by now, he knows I took it.”
“My own magic is still recovering, but . . . how do I describe what I feel? It’s almost as if this rock, as you call it, is taking in magic, rather than putting it out.”
“You think it might have something to do with his magic?”
“Sotiris’s?”
“Or Nico’s.”
She could almost hear him thinking, before he said, “It’s possible. I know little of Sotiris’s early history, but very little of Nico’s life didn’t involve magic. He was born with it, and as I said, he came into his full power very young.” He was silent for another few minutes, then said, “Nico’s magic is very different from mine, however. He and Sotiris are sorcerers, which means their magic runs in their blood, warms their flesh. Mine, on the other hand, is goddess-gifted for only one purpose, and that is to fight. My magic is not attracted to that thing, nor is it repelled.”
“Okay, but what if, just hypothetically . . . what if it is important to Nico? And that’s why Sotiris guarded it so closely. To keep Nico from having it.”
“You think Sotiris may send his people after us for that.” He nodded at the rock.
“Maybe,” she admitted. “This is all new to me, and I could be blowing smoke out my ass, but—”
His hand reached between them to squeeze her butt cheek. “I keep a close eye on your ass. I’d have noticed that.”
“I’m serious, Dragan,” she insisted, even as she experienced a little zing of pleasure at what he’d said.
“So am I, sweet. And you’re right. You tell me we’re not far from this place where Nico might be living.”
She nodded. “Three or four hours, I think.”
“Then we should go, find out if it’s Nico, and give him this rock.”
“And if it’s not Nico that we find? What if I’m wrong about this Nicholas person?”
“Then we keep looking. But first steps first. Don’t fight the battle until the enemy is real.”
Good advice, she thought. But what if Sotiris had hired someone to kill them, and the enemy was already here, hiding in the shadows? She considered the trail they might have left for someone to follow. They hadn’t stayed in any one place more
than a single night, which was good. But she’d had to use a credit card for tonight’s hotel check-in, and she’d used it for Dragan’s new clothes, too. It was an old card, in her grandmother’s name—a gift for her to use for college expenses other than the usual books and tuition. Her grandmother had been determined that Maeve not spend all of her college years with her nose in a book, or a computer. She hadn’t graduated that long ago, and her Gran had never asked for it back, so she’d kept the card, but hadn’t used it. Her name wasn’t directly associated with the account, but any investigator worth his salt would make the connection. Especially once the expenses started forming a trail to follow.
And there were those vampires. Dragan seemed convinced they had nothing to do with Sotiris. But what if . . . ?
“I’ve been thinking.”
He chuckled softly. “Aren’t you always?”
She gave a weak smile. “We’re checked in here through tonight, but I’m thinking we should leave today instead, maybe just after dark. If we do it without checking out, then anyone looking for us will think we’re still here at this hotel. It might give us a couple hours’ lead, get us to Pompano, and hopefully your Nico, before anyone catches up with us.”
He shrugged, causing sleek muscle to slide under her cheek. It felt so nice. Why couldn’t it be simple, too?
“This is your world—”
“Yours, too, now,” she reminded him.
“True enough. But for now, you’re the better judge of how to reach Nico safely. Will we drive straight there?”
“No, we’ll stop somewhere close and stay over. We don’t want to arrive at the house in the middle of the night. Better to approach in daytime, I think, even if he does turn out to be your Nico.”
Another delicious shrug. “Nico doesn’t sleep much, but I get your point. Some surprises are best met in daylight.”
She sighed. “Okay. We should shower and pack up. We can take everything down to the SUV, then go out for an early dinner and come back. Make it look like we’re staying.”
“Shower?” He sat up, then reached around and pulled her across his lap. “Together?”
Maeve felt a rush of happiness that he still wanted her after all the sex they’d had. Although she supposed most people wouldn’t consider what they’d done a lot. Still, it was one thing to have sex in the dark in bed, and something else entirely to stand in the bright light of a bathroom and get naked in the shower together. She was in good shape. She ran often, and did yoga or other strengthening exercises a couple times a week. But he was beautiful.
As if he’d read her mind, he stood, taking her with him as easily as if she weighed nothing. “Come on, sweet Mae, I want to watch the water run over your delicious body.” He didn’t wait for her response, just hustled her ahead of him into the bathroom, where he held onto her as he reached in to turn on the water, then wrapped her in both arms and rocked her from foot to foot, while they waited for the water to run hot. When the enclosure finally filled with steam, he picked her up and walked them both under the water, laughing at her outraged protest as he pulled the glass door shut, and put himself between her and the pounding water.
“That was mean!”
“I’m sorry.” His apology was sharply weakened by the fact that he was trying not to grin.
“No, you’re not. You wait, buddy. Payback’s a bitch.”
“Whatever that means,” he said cheerfully, then grabbed the soap and began smoothing it over her breasts.
The shower took longer than it should have, but Maeve wasn’t going to complain. In a very short period of time, she’d become quite fond of sex. Or maybe it was sex with Dragan. God knew he was worth growing fond of. And it wasn’t just his body, either. He could be deadly serious when necessary, and overprotective most of the time, but he was also wickedly charming and clever, and amazingly optimistic given his history. But then, if she’d been in a tiny prison for as long as he had—and if she was still sane, which was no sure thing—she might be so happy to be free that everything would be a delight. From fresh air and sunshine, to cars and how to drive them, to new tastes in food and everything in between. Hell, he even loved jeans and t-shirts, although she could understand that. She loved them, too.
Packing up took a lot less time than showering. The longest discussion they had was over Dragan’s insistence that his sword go with him, since they might well be facing an enemy. Maeve fought him on that, because the damn thing was too obvious, and would only attract attention. She didn’t care about ordinary tourists who might point and stare. She was more concerned about the local police who would probably not welcome a big guy wandering around with four plus feet of sharpened steel.
After much discussion, he agreed with her assessment. He wasn’t happy about it, and announced he’d be purchasing a gun of his own and learning to use it as soon as possible, but in the end, he settled for the two knives he always wore—on his belt and in his boot. Maeve didn’t need to choose. She had the sub-compact Glock in its paddle holster beneath her jacket, and a small Spyderco folding knife that was as handy for slicing tape as for defense. She usually kept it in her purse, but slipped it into her jacket pocket instead. She wasn’t at all sure she’d be able to use it effectively. Her first instinct would always be to grab her gun, since she’d trained with it enough to be comfortable. But it never hurt to have something sharp in your pocket, if only to give Dragan another blade to use in a pinch.
Finally set, they took their bags down to the SUV, then walked across the street to the marketplace, looking for food. It was dinnertime by then, with the sun beginning to set and the air cooling just enough that they could wear jackets to cover their weapons without standing out in the crowd.
It was while they were walking back from dinner that everything went to shit. Maeve watched as Dragan stopped to study a store window display, his third so far, which seemed out of character. He’d barely cared about choosing the clothes they’d bought for him, much less shopping for anything more. Linking her arm with his, just two more lovers out for a stroll, she said, “What’s going on?”
He shot her a surprised look, which was rather insulting, but he said, “Just a feeling. It could be nothing, but—”
“Your Spidey senses are tingling.”
He stared as if she’d spoken a foreign language, then shook his head sharply and said, “Instincts born of too many years of war are warning me there’s a threat.”
“That’s what I meant,” she agreed and kicked up their pace. “Let’s go.”
He shifted sides, leaving his right hand unencumbered, then dropped back half a step so that his greater size shielded her from anyone coming up from behind them.
“I know what you’re doing,” she muttered.
“So do I.”
She made a disgusted noise, but kept walking, and before long, they were crossing the busy street and striding toward the hotel parking garage. There was an itch on her back that she tried to blame on Dragan’s warning, but she couldn’t get rid of the idea that someone really was stalking them. “How’re those instincts of yours feeling?” she asked as they bypassed the hotel entrance in favor of the garage.
“Unhappy.” He glared at an older couple who tried to share their elevator in the parking garage. They tsked in disapproval, but took the hint and backed away. Once the doors closed, he relaxed enough to take Maeve’s hand and squeeze it reassuringly, then immediately dropped it again. “How’d they find us?”
“I used a credit card to make this reservation. It’s one I never use, in my grandmother’s name, making it difficult to track me with it. But Sotiris only hires good people. That has to be how they found us.”
Dragan held her back when the doors opened on their parking level, stepping out ahead of her to scan the garage, before motioning for her to follow.
“You think they’ll co
me at us here?” she asked quietly, mindful of how voices carried in garages like this. “Did you see anyone?”
“No, but my instincts are well-honed and enhanced by the goddess’s gift. Someone was definitely watching us with ill intent.”
“Could be a regular robber who saw us spending money.”
They were already at the SUV by then, and Maeve was thinking they might have evaded their pursuer, when the faint ding of the elevator sounded.
She and Dragan both reacted before the bell’s echo finished bouncing off the walls, no more than an instant before several shots zinged off the car next to theirs. They took up defensive positions, Maeve with her gun in hand, as she tried to spot the shooter.
“I don’t see anyone,” she hissed, then dropped down to her belly trying to find their assailant that way. But there were too many tires in the way. She sat up, sheltering against one of the SUV’s back tires. “Nothing.”
“Stay,” he ordered and crouching low, made his way first to the front of their vehicle, and then in the same bent-over position along the wall and down the line of cars.
Maeve tracked him as he got closer to the elevator, all the while thinking of his last order, and that she wasn’t a fucking dog. She also wasn’t an idiot to react out of pique, however, and giving the matter some thought, decided it made tactical sense for her to remain where she was, while Dragan flanked the shooter from the other side. Moving to one of the SUV’s front tires, where she had a better view of the garage, she scanned from side to side of the elevator, peering under and over the parked cars. Even bad guys had to move sometime, and they couldn’t shoot without showing themselves.
She’d no sooner had that thought than she heard the soft scuff of a boot. Tilting her head from one side to the other, she replayed the noise in her head and tried to place it. She didn’t think it was Dragan. Somehow, she knew he’d be a silent stalker, but the sound had also seemed too close. She peered around the front bumper of her SUV, checking the low angle once more. There weren’t any telltale feet or legs, no one lying on the ground, searching the way she was. But when she lifted into a walking crouch, in order to move, she caught a shadow on the opposite wall. Thinking it was more a flutter of light than a true shadow, she nonetheless checked the surrounding lights and quickly calculated where the person casting that shadow had to be. She smiled. If Dragan had continued his path along the wall to the end of the garage, he might be in the perfect position to come up behind the bad guy. Unfortunately, she had no way of letting him know that without giving away his position.
The Stone Warriors: Dragan Page 17