by Ruby Dixon
I tear at my bonds, flexing. Frustration threatens to overwhelm me even as her cunt grips me tightly, demanding that I claim her as mine. Her scent is all around me, so thick and delicious that my mouth waters. I want to taste her heat. I want to taste all of her—but I must claim her.
I must.
I cannot spill until I do.
I snap my teeth at her again, frantic. I am so close to release, but I must fight it, like I fight the killing urges that threaten to overwhelm my thoughts. I begin to despair, wondering if Em-mah is here to torture me instead of mate with me. Is this what the humans have planned? To show me my mate and not let me claim her?
But then she touches her throat, a question in her eyes, and I want to snarl with joy. Yes! Her throat!
She looks frightened of the thought, and that fills me with the fierce need to protect, to reassure. I would never harm her. I wish to only give her my fires, but she is not drakoni. Perhaps these smelly ones mate in a different way. I snap my teeth at her again and show my throat, encouraging her.
My Em-mah hesitates, and then leans in, giving me her throat.
Mine.
With ecstatic swiftness, my fangs elongate. I sink them into her soft throat, careful not to harm her more than I must. I can feel her stiffen against me, feel her body go tight as I release my fires into her. I pour everything I have into my mate’s throat, full of joy and pride that I am claiming her. Em-mah will be mine. Our minds will link and even in this awful place that I am trapped in, she will give me joy.
She quivers against me, trembling, and I want to reassure her. I touch my thoughts to hers, but there is no answering response. Not yet. I must be patient. Until then, I silently command her to remain still so I do not tear at her soft skin. My fangs remain locked inside her, and I wait the endless moments until they recede. I lick the wound I have created on her throat, regretting the harm I have caused her. My Em-mah. She tastes sweet, different from anything I had expected.
I want to keep licking her throat, tasting her skin, but she lifts her head and pulls away from me, touching her neck. I send more thoughts to her mind, but she is still closed to me. Impatient, I flex my arms again against my restraints. I want her to free me. I want to touch her.
More than anything, I want to bear her to the floor and claim her properly, as a drakoni claims his mate. Now she has taken my fires, and I can give her my seed.
She gives a tentative rock of her hips against mine, a question in her eyes. Do we still continue? I thrust up against her, pushing hard. I want her release. I want to see her come before I claim my own. But then her cunt tightens around me, and she starts to touch herself again, and I feel her walls clasping my cock tight.
A snarl breaks from my throat. I want to release…but I want her to come first. She must. She—
“Zohr,” she says softly, my name on her tongue, and touches her throat again, where I dug my teeth deep and claimed her as my own.
It is too much. I can hold back no longer. With a roar, I spill my release into her soft body, giving her my seed. It pours from me, despite our strange position, despite the fact she is not under me, and—
She gasps, looking up. Another scent tinges the air, still distant. The foul-smelling male that was here will return soon. I batter her with my thoughts even as she climbs off my cock, my seed spilling down her thighs.
I am shocked at the sight. Is she…is she rejecting me? When a drakoni male rejects a female, he does not come inside her. He pulls out and lets his seed spill on her back. Has she decided that she does not want me?
But I have claimed her. She is mine.
A roar of frustration builds in my throat as she flings her strange skins back on her body, then wipes my seed from my skin with her wraps, and races away.
How is this possible? Why is she leaving?
Why has she rejected me? I touch her mind again, but there is still nothing for me to touch. No one for me to speak to.
“Em-mah!” I roar, furious. The urge to turn to battle-form, to snatch her into my claws and fly away with her, is overwhelming. But the cage around my chest prevents me from turning, as does the choking band around my neck. I am no good to my female if I am dead or unable to fly.
My mate’s scent disappears, and I roar my frustrations to the world.
7
EMMA
It seems impossible, but I’ve caught the flu.
At least, I’m pretty sure it’s the flu. All I know is that when I wake up the next morning, I’m feverish and hot, and my stitches hurt and throb like nothing I’ve ever felt before. When I can’t rouse myself out of bed for breakfast, Carol, one of the older women, checks in on me. A short time later, Old Jerry heads by and puts his hand on my forehead.
“You’re burning up. Might be infection.” He checks my head and then grunts in surprise. “Looks good, though. Could just be bad luck. Stay in bed, I guess. Can’t have you feeding everyone if you’ve got the damn plague.” He sits down in a folding chair next to my bed, digs through his bag, and then hands me some long-expired cold meds. “Take these and see if they help.”
I nod and choke the pills down, then go back to sleep.
I wake up a short time later with a sense of dread hanging over my head. I rub a hand over my face, squinting at the cracked ceiling in my room and wondering what’s bothering me. Did I dream about my brother? Did the cold meds make me sick?
Where are you?
The thought echoes in my head, clear as day, and my first instinct is to think that I’m hallucinating.
But the voice in my head is thoroughly masculine, deep and full of anger. It can only be one person. Zohr?
Emma? Where are you? Why do you hide yourself away?
I sit upright in the bed, surprised. A wave of nausea crashes over me and I lie back down again, moaning. I’m in bed. I’m sick.
His thoughts turn affectionate and protective, which is startling to feel. Is it because you took in my fires?
Your fires? Is that what happened when you bit me? I’m still shocked that this worked, and a little pleased. Something actually worked for a change. I’m even more shocked that Zohr’s talking to me, and his voice is so very clear he might as well be standing right next to me. I’m alone in my room, though, and yet I have a strange feeling of being watched. It’s bizarre. I press my hand to my throbbing forehead, trying to absorb everything.
Yes. You took my venom. When you receive my fires, it bonds us. We are connected forever now.
Oh gosh, forever, huh? Great?
Why do you not sound pleased? Did you not want to mate with me? Is that why you rejected my seed? Anger and frustration tinge his thoughts, along with desperation. It feels as if he’s about to go out of control, and quick.
Rejected his…oh boy. I didn’t mean to reject anything. And judging from the emotions that are blasting through my head, he’s really upset over it. I try to recall what happened, and then realize with embarrassment that he misinterpreted why I left. I had to sneak in to see you, I explain. I heard someone coming and I had to leave. It just happened to be at, um, a really bad moment.
I did not feel your cunt clench with pleasure. Did you come?
Son of a bitch, that question zooms through my head like an arrow. An embarrassing, very pointed arrow. Uh. It was fine.
I can practically feel him growling. It does not sound fine. Come back here so I can pleasure you. Come free me.
I would love nothing more than to free you, Zohr. I can’t, though.
Why? Are the other males I scent holding you hostage? Anger erupts through my mind, startling in its immediacy and ferocity. Do I need to come for you?
No! Wait! Don’t freak out. Just let me explain!
Then explain, comes the arrogant demand.
My back goes up at the imperious tone. Well, first of all, you need to calm the fuck down, because you’re making my head hurt with all your shouting. I don’t know if you noticed, but I have stitches.
I scented blood
on your head. It pains you? His thoughts are reluctantly calmer and overall less violent, as if he’s trying to soothe me but it’s the last thing he wants to do.
I’ll take it. Yeah, my head hurts. It hurts a lot, actually. I hope it’s not infected. My entire head aches and I feel like I have a fever.
My mate, he sends, and his thoughts are possessive and pleasurable all at once. It’s almost like being enfolded in a mental hug. Come here so I can lick your wounds for you and help them heal.
I can’t come to you right now. Let me explain.
I see through your eyes you are in a nest alone. This is good. I do not wish other males to touch my mate.
Yeah, well, I don’t want that, either. I can’t decide if I’m amused at his smug attitude or annoyed.
Feels like both, Zohr sends.
Thanks for that, I retort back.
You are most welcome. His thoughts purr through my mind. Now come and free me.
And even though I’m aching all over and sick, his thoughts are so persuasive that I really do want to get out of bed and trot down to his side. I can’t, Zohr. There’s a lot going on. You’re being held captive by someone who wants a dragon. He used me to bring you down. That’s how come you got captured. Just thinking about it makes me ache with guilt and misery. I’m so sorry. If you hadn’t seen me—
I smelled you. The moment I scented you on the wind, I knew you were mine. It did not matter if I had seen you or not. You were mine in that moment.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. Does that mean any chick he scented would do? Or was there something about me? Also, I’m a little worried about how possessive he is. Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. All right, I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say.
I would have come for you no matter what, Zohr tells me. The moment your scent hit me, my mind cleared. It is as if the clouds have gone away. There is awe and wonderment in his mental “tone.” My thoughts are my own once more.
Not entirely your own, I can’t help but snark. I’m sitting in them.
I welcome your thoughts, he tells me, warmth flooding through my head. Everything I have now is yours, and I belong to you just as you belong to me.
Yup, definitely bitten off more than I can chew.
You keep thinking of biting? Do not be afraid of me. His thoughts take a sultry bent. The bite only happens once. From now on, I will simply need to give you my seed to brand your scent as my mate.
Mate. I test the word out on my tongue. Did Sasha mention anything about that? I knew they were together, but I didn’t realize how together. Still, if this is what it takes to free Zohr, I’ll do it. Being a dragon’s mate can’t be any worse than being waitress to Azar and his buddies.
Azar?
Yes, I think in his direction. The pale guy running things here.
He is the Salorian I smell on the wind?
I…guess? What is a Salorian?
My mind suddenly floods with mental images. Of pale, elegant men with long fluttering hair, perched atop delicate chairs. Men seated above others, their cold, colorless eyes gazing down. There is cruelty in their faces, and their garments are long and flowing. It’s like an alternate-world version of Azar, and I’m momentarily fascinated. The feelings creeping in are less exciting, though. There’s cruelty and cunning and hate, all wrapped up in the idea of Salorians. They’re bad guys? I ask.
Very bad. They… Zohr’s thoughts grow confused. They…I do not remember. Just that they are bad.
It’s okay, Zohr. I try to send him comforting thoughts, even though my head is pounding. It feels like I’ve got another brain suddenly stuffed inside my skull, and between trying to figure out his thoughts and mine, I’m getting the world’s worst migraine. Sasha told me that sort of thing happens. That your memory’s piece-y because of this place.
I hate this place. There’s vehemence in his thoughts, and his dislike seeps into my head.
Maybe…maybe you can go back, then.
No. You are here.
I suppress the groan that threatens to escape me. But if you left, you’d be safe.
And you would be vulnerable. Wherever you go, I will go.
This is going to take some getting used to. I want to talk more, but my head hurts, Zohr. Actually, all of me hurts.
It is my venom, he tells me again. There’s no apology in his tone, just pride and pleasure as if he’s happy about the situation. You will only hurt for a short time. If I could take it away from you, I would.
I think about his situation. The chains. The vest full of spikes. The uncomfortable-looking collar. And you? Are you okay? Here I am lying in a bed at least. I’m not chained down and being held captive. Well, at least, I don’t think I’m a captive. I can’t leave, though. Azar and his goons wouldn’t let me walk away. In a sense, I’m trapped, just as Zohr is.
I hate it, and I hate this place, but I will not abandon you. Can you not come to me?
I can’t. They’ll kill me if they find out we’re talking. I bite my lip, thinking about the dragon-man. I wish I could come and check on you, but if I leave my room after Old Jerry told everyone I’m sick, they’re going to ask questions and I don’t have answers for them.
Stay where you are until you are safe. Do you want me to come for you? I get a flash of mental images, of Zohr breaking free.
No! Don’t hurt yourself. We’ll figure this out. We just need to be patient.
Patience. He mulls the thought. Restraint is something I have not been familiar with for a long time. There’s a hint of irony in his mind. I have been instinct and instinct alone for far too long. Now that I am awakened, everything feels different.
Well, don’t act different, I caution him. No one can know we’re linked.
Everyone will know soon enough, he tells me, and that arrogant flavor is back in his thoughts. The Salorian will smell me on you.
I gasp aloud even though I know Zohr can’t hear it. What the fuck? What do you mean?
You have taken my fires. Your scent will change to mingle with mine.
Well that’s not good! I hope the perfume covers it. I make a mental note to spritz it even more heavily than usual.
You hide your scent? He sounds fascinated. Come here and let me sniff you to determine if this is true.
Nice try. I’m not getting out of bed.
His tone is contrite. Because you hurt. I do not like that you are aching. Close your eyes. Sleep. I can wait a bit longer to look upon my mate once more.
I do as he says and shut my eyes. Immediately some of the tension eases, and I can relax a bit.
The venom will flow out of your system in another day or so, he promises. You will feel better soon.
I kinda like his soothing tone and catch myself smiling. You say that to all the ladies?
I have never claimed a female before. I have never wanted to until now.
Well, don’t get too attached. I’m not much of a prize.
You are everything.
I can’t help but be flattered at his tone. Is this how it is between Sasha and Dakh? No wonder she was so besotted with him. Big dick and utter devotion?
If the situation wasn’t so shitty and forced, I’d probably be besotted, too. As it is, I’m just worried. Worried we’re going to be found out. Worried Zohr’s going to hurt himself. Worried a million other things are going to go wrong.
I think about Boyd.
And Azar.
And I think about Zohr.
Everything’s such a mess. I’m “mated” to a stranger. My scent’s going to change and Azar’s going to find out. I’m still surrounded—heck, working with—the enemy. I’ve got no clue how to get Zohr free. I’ll think of something, though. I have to.
Giving up has never been an option in my book.
8
ZOHR
I listen to my mate’s fascinating tumble of thoughts, and I realize she does not know that I can hear everything. She worries about me. She worries about the one called Azar, and I p
ull his image from her scattered thoughts and lock it into my own. If I see him, I will destroy him, I vow to myself.
I test my wrists against the chains holding me down. When I was lost in my own head—crazed—I did not understand the chains, only that they prevented me from flying away and they made me angry. Now I see what they are for. This Azar knew just how to chain me down. He knew that a drakoni’s wings are vulnerable and delicate at the base, which is where the spikes prod into my back. He knows that the collar locked around my neck will tear my throat out if I try to change. He keeps me prisoner in my two-legged form.
But for what purpose?
I sift through my mate’s thoughts, trying to learn from her. She thinks of another male. Boyd. Her sibling, now dead. She is sad that he is gone, but only because of what he represents. There is much resentment when she thinks of him.
I wonder if I have a sibling?
My thoughts are…blank. I try to think about my past, and there is nothing there. It is as if my mind is fogged, and I cannot part the mists. How long was I crazed, I wonder? I am only now starting to come to myself, and it feels like…
Like what? I have nothing to compare it to.
I growl low in frustration and twist against the cuffs again. My skin—vulnerable in my two-legged form—bleeds and rends against the metal.
A nearby human male snarls something at me, but I do not understand his words. I only speak to my Emma.
And her thoughts are troubling. She worries if she has made a mistake in mating with me. That I am too attached already and she does not know what she has “gotten herself into.” That I will want more than she can give. She is not afraid of me, though, and that is good.
Her worries are foolish ones. She will soon realize that I wish only to protect and care for her. I have dealt with skittish females before, and it does not matter to me that she has doubts. I have none. I will show her I am the right mate for her.