Scorched (Rulers of the Sky Book 1)

by Paula Quinn

  Swiping his tongue across her palette, his muscles hardened with the need to ravish her completely. He drank, heady with the taste of her purity. She arched her back, trying to escape the full evidence of his arousal nestled between her thighs. He bent over her, breaking their kiss only to drag his tongue across her mouth, then over the hot pulse of her throat. She trembled against him, setting his nerve endings on fire, making his cock shudder with a need so painful he thought he might tear through his jeans.

  “Give yourself to me, Sam,” he ground out a rough whisper and dipped his mouth to her nipple, erect and jutting upward through her pajama shirt and begging to be sucked.

  Before he could stop them, images of himself, both as man and beast, flooded his thoughts and hers. He took her hard and slow, reveling in her virginity before he consumed her in fire and captured her essence.

  “No!” Sam broke away from him. Though her cheeks were flushed, her expression was one of terror. “What was that? What did you do to me? Is that why you’re here? Because I’m a…Oh, dear God, it is, isn’t it? You’re a dragon and I’m a virgin!”

  “Nay, Sam.” He moved toward her, reaching for her again. This time, to stop her from fleeing from him. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. He hadn’t meant for her to see. “I…” He clenched his jaw, unsure of what to say, and not liking that he had to say anything at all. “It is who I am.”

  She hugged herself, appearing to his sorry eyes, like a child, alone and afraid. The sudden desire to protect her washed over him. He was better, stronger than any knight. Why couldn’t she see that?

  “Cast away your knights,” he commanded. “You have me to be your firm foundation now.”

  “After you take me against my will and burn me to ashes? No, thank you.”

  He frowned at her. “I am incapable of such a thing.”

  “Oh really? Then what would you call…that?” She waved her finger between them, indicating what she’d just seen in her thoughts.

  “Every virgin I took came to me willingly,” he assured her, careful this time not to puff himself up too much. Clearly, she did not appreciate his vanity. If he was going to remain here, it was something he’d have to get used to. It would be difficult. All Drakkon were vain, and justifiably so.

  “You’re a nut if you believe that, Marcus.” She ducked around him and scooted out of his path. “Why would any woman give her life willingly?”

  “To save her village mostly,” he said matter-of-factly. “There were some who came to me for other reasons.”

  “Depraved ones, I’m sure.”

  His expression on her darkened and his nostrils flared. It was the first time since he met her that she angered him. “I take insult to that, Samantha.”

  She laughed, but the sound held no mirth. Her hand shook as she raised it to her forehead. “Oh, God, let me wake up. This can’t be real.” She closed her eyes and Marcus watched her curiously, tilting his head. When she opened them again, she looked at him and groaned. “You need to go back to wherever it is you came from.”

  “I cannot,” he said gravely. “I told you, the Council—”

  “I mean back to wherever you were a few days ago.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot do that either, Sam.”

  “Why not?” She turned toward the window and looked out. Her slender shoulders slumped making Marcus want to go to her and vow he’d never hurt her the way he could as a Drakkon. “If you’re planning on having sex with me, you can forget it.”

  “Can Eric forget it as well?” He had no idea why he put that question to her, or why the thought of Eric putting his hands on her made him want to snap Eric’s neck like a dried twig.

  She pivoted slowly and Marcus knew he was in trouble by the fact that she was already glaring at him.

  “How dare you ask me that? Who do you think you are, anyway?” When he opened his mouth to answer, she cut him off and moved toward him. “You scare me to death after you destroy my stable, then you come drifting back here like you own the place, and me with it! What I do with Eric is my business!” She looked up and poked him in the chest. “Got that? I must be insane to let you stay here!”

  Marcus breathed her in and closed his eyes. “Damn it, woman, you smell good.”

  “Out!”

  His eyes opened at her command and found her pointing stiffly to the door. His mouth crooked into a smile and he lifted his thumb to trace it across her lower lip. “I like when you blush, but I like it even more when you push up this lip,” He reached out to touch her lower lip, “ready to fight.”

  She heaved him toward the door, not giving him a chance to kiss her again. “Make yourself useful if you want to stay here. There’s plenty to do.”

  When he reached the other side of the door, Marcus turned to smile at her. “Does this mean you want me to stay, Sam?”

  She slammed the door in his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam spent the morning recovering from the effects of Marcus’ kiss. Whoever told him he kissed rather nicely had grossly understated that assessment. He didn’t kiss—he pillaged with a hot, searing passion she had never known. Laying waste to Sam’s senses, wreaking havoc on her mouth, her thoughts. Her thoughts…good for nothing ever again, but remembering the perverse pleasure of watching him, feeling him make rough, passionate love to her.

  It took her almost an hour before her heart rate slowed and twice the time to cool the burning in the pit of her belly. Good thing she also remembered what he had become while he took her. His sleek flesh becoming scales, his eyes sparkling with a need she would never understand, and the fire that destroyed her.

  But he wasn’t a dragon anymore.

  She had to stop thinking about him. She had work to do and she refused to let Marcus the dragon-man drive her deeper into the crazy chasm. Pushing him out of her head, she replaced him with Sir Robert of Glastonbury.

  The afternoon went by more quickly and Sam didn’t even mind the constant hammering coming from the bailey outside her window. Things were getting fixed and she finally finished chapter six. It was proving to be a good day.

  Grinning at her monitor, she clicked save and reclined back in her chair. Sir Robert had been as difficult to mold into her story as trying to fit a cinderblock into her stone wall. But she’d done it. A little patience and some chipping deeper into his character and the plot was really starting to come together. She should celebrate. Maybe with a slice of Ellie’s truffle cake.

  I don’t like it.

  Sam’s smile vanished, along with her good mood. What?

  Your story. I don’t like it.

  Why not?

  Too many knights, for one.

  She closed her eyes and cupped her forehead in her hand. The thorn in her otherwise perfect garden. It wasn’t his voice intruding on her private thoughts when she least expected it that made her want to pack up and move back to the States. But the fact that she was growing accustomed to it, found herself waiting for him to pop in. Maybe they would take her away with him, lock them both up in the same padded room.

  And your Robert is too arrogant, he went on, sounding far more superior than all her knights put together. Were I in your tale, he would have been toast after chapter one, and I would have won the heroine.

  She didn’t know why his words made her belly flip, imagining him as the hero.

  Well, you’re not in my tale, and I don’t remember asking for your opinion.

  She waited for more, damn her, then shook her head and kicked the leg on her desk when he remained silent. Did he finally take the hint? Hating herself for doing it, she left her chair and peeked over the deep casement of her window to see what was keeping him so busy.

  He was standing with his back to her at the foot of her rickety drawbridge, examining it with his arms folded across his chest. His bare chest. Damn him.

  Sam was careful not to think about how good he looked shirtless—or in a shirt, for that matter. Still, she noted the slight tilt of his head,
as if he could sense her presence behind him, a couple of dozen feet up.

  Readers don’t like weak-minded men, she told him, defending her latest hero, and to keep her mind off the way the sun spilled over the hard slopes and valleys defining Marcus’ shoulders.

  I can see then why your writing is so difficult. Having to conjure up strong-minded men is a great challenge.

  From her window, Sam pondered his stubborn repugnance toward mankind. If that Padgora guy had really changed him into a man against his will, and unfortunately, she had no reason not to believe him after seeing his wings, then she guessed she could sympathize with his anger. But what made dragons so much better than men? They ate people!

  Only when it was necessary.

  She ignored that comment. So, you never met a man you liked?

  No, Sam, I do not like maggots.

  Men are not maggots, Marcus.

  Compared to me, they are.

  She drew out a long sigh. Trying to talk to him about anything other than himself was useless. Were you this conceited as a reptile?

  He turned his head slowly and frowned up at her. Sam could feel, rather than see on his face the insult she caused him. She took a step back expecting him to sprout his wings, fly to her window, and strangle her.

  Drakkons are more than simply reptiles.

  Sorry.

  And I wouldn’t hurt you. You are not my enemy, so stop being afraid of me.

  It’s not easy. You used to blow fire and eat virgins.

  Used to, he pointed out, the sting of bitterness reaching deep into Sam’s awareness.

  She felt sorry for him. She knew it was madness, but was it any more so than letting him stay here? She didn’t know him or what he was capable of—though after his kiss this morning, she knew he was dangerous, at least to her virtue. He was repairing her castle for free, but that wasn’t why she hadn’t called the cops.

  There was something she liked about him, besides looking at him. Something she suspected Ellie felt as well. He was tactlessly honest, had an easy smile, and he possessed the raw virility of a team of rugby players. Who wouldn’t want him around? Maybe dragons had the ability to make people do what they wanted. He could read her thoughts, why not mold them like she did to her characters?

  Because you were given a free will and even Drakkon cannot interfere with that.

  She quirked her brow at him as he bent to retrieve his hammer from the ground. What about all the virgins you ate? Was it their free will to become your dinner?

  Nay, they all had a choice to lose their purity before I caught them.

  Before you…caught them? Sam asked with a horrified little gasp. I thought you said they went to you to save their villages or because they wanted to.

  He shrugged, tucking the handle of his hammer beneath the waistband of his jeans. Some did want to, but I thought feeding those ridiculous tales of virgin sacrifices being offered up would be easier for you to accept.

  Anger and disappointment coursed through her, making it difficult to reply right way. A place in her heart she didn’t even know existed went cold, as if a light of hope just went out. There were no knights in shining armor coming to sweep her off her feet. There were only men like Raymond. No matter what species they were. Why did she think Marcus might be any different?

  So, you’re a liar then, Marcus?

  He looked up, concern marring his features. I would not call it that. And I would like to speak to you about this Raymond. He enters your head often.

  Sam stepped away from the window. She didn’t want to hear anymore, or talk to him, or see him for the rest of the day, or think about it, or…

  The transformation worked well, Marcus, she flung at him on her way down the stairs. You’ve truly become a man.

  When she reached the working door and yanked it open, Marcus stood on the other side waiting for her, ebony hair tousled from the hand he just finished raking through it.

  “That was a cruel thing to say, Sam. I would not have expected it from you.”

  He looked so affected by what she’d called him that she almost apologized. “You don’t even know me.” She pushed by him instead, deciding it was better if he hated her. She’d been mad to let him stay. She’d taken in a few stray cats in the past; not having the heart to leave them to their own defenses on the busy streets of Manhattan, but Marcus was no freaking cat!

  I know you better than Eric or even Raymond.

  His voice in her head, and the name he spoke inside it proved the truth of his words and stopped her in her tracks before she reached the stables. He could read her mind, know her most private thoughts. No one knew of Raymond, not even Ellie. It mortified her that he knew what a fool she’d been, how willing she’d been to trust that lying bastard.

  He was more the fool than you, Sam.

  She didn’t want to talk…or think about this. Not with a man she’d just met. Not with anyone. Covering her ears, she hurried toward the stables.

  Growing up, she’d learned to keep her feelings to herself. She’d had to, for there was no one to share them with. It was why she wrote, to express herself without truly revealing who she was. A lonely, twenty-six-year-old virgin who believed in happily-ever-afters. Marcus was right, even Raymond didn’t know her deepest dreams…not the important ones.

  “Tell them to me.” A tender sigh across her thoughts. No, he was here, speaking aloud, standing just behind her.

  She closed her eyes and called upon every shred of sheer will she possessed to keep from turning around. His warm breath mingled with the rich elegance of his voice along her nape tempted her to obey his request.

  “You already know them,” she accused, fighting his allure. She stepped away from him and reached for her saddle.

  “No, some you keep hidden too deep for even me to see.”

  “I’ll tell you and then will you leave me alone?”

  He nodded, watching her saddle her horse.

  “It’s simple,” she told him, fitting her foot into the stirrup and hoisting herself up. “I want someone who’s going to stick around. And he isn’t you.”

  With a snap of her wrists, she led her horse out of the stable, and then out of the bailey.

  She didn’t need this. She was just beginning to settle comfortably into her new, neat little life complete with a sweet old grandmother and a levelheaded pediatrician for a boyfriend. The last thing she wanted in it was a dragon!

  Levelheaded is not what you need, Sam.

  Damn it. You promised to leave me alone.

  But I am a miserable liar.

  Go away. And don’t tell me what I need.

  You need passion.

  Sam felt the gush of wind, heard the flap of huge wings behind her head and turned. There was no time to scream, though still she tried, as Marcus swooped down and hooked his arms under hers.

  “Can a man do this?” he asked softly, pressing his mouth to her ear as he lifted her out of her saddle and into the air. “Don’t be afraid,” he coaxed in a sorcerer’s whisper, looping one arm around her waist and dragging her spine up against his chest. He crossed his other arm over her collarbone and coiled his legs around hers. “I’ve got you.”

  She was going to throw up all over her poor horse below. “Marcus, please…” She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded like a drum beneath his hands. Any second now, she was going to start screaming like the lunatic she’d become.

  “Relax, Sam. I’m not putting you down.”

  With one mighty flap, they rose another hundred feet. Sam squeezed her eyes shut so tight they hurt. The little air she managed to suck in was suddenly snatched from her lungs as they shot forward. She risked opening one eye and looked down at the blurring treetops below.

  “Every time we speak, you run from me.”

  She heard his voice in her ear but she was too terror-stricken to reply. She dug her fingernails into his arms, clutching him for dear life. She was dreaming. That’s what this was, a terrible dream she would wake from
soon enough. Maybe a meteor had fallen through her stable roof that day and hit her in the head. Maybe she was lying in a hospital bed, safe and sound, and in a coma. Above her, she heard Marcus sigh deeply.

  “Stop sniveling, Sam. Never have I met a woman so determined to pretend I am not what I say.”

  Sam opened both her eyes and this time she saw red. Sniveling? Was he joking? She was captured in the arms of a man with wings and being flown across England at a velocity that made her head and stomach spin. He was complaining about her sniveling?

  “Enjoy the ride,” he said so close she wasn’t sure if he spoke or thought the soft command. “Not many humans experience England from this viewpoint.”

  “Yes, they do! Only they do it from the safety of a plane!”

  “And what is a plane but a thoughtless metal beast with wings? Why, I’ve knocked a few of them out of the air as if they were made of mist. I tell you. I am safer.”

  “God, help me,” she groaned, feeling ill.

  She prayed against the thunderous flapping above her and didn’t stop until she felt the ground beneath her feet again. She opened her eyes, ready to kiss the dirt as Marcus released her. What she saw made her want to close them again. She stood at the entrance of a cave, and not just any cave, but an enormous gaping black chasm that reeked of sulfur and methane.

  The thick rock walls on either side of the opening were scarred by deep, slim gouges, as if something huge had used the jagged surface to sharpen its talons. As the harrowing clarity of where he’d brought her settled in, Sam turned around, certain she would find a real, people-eating, fire-breathing dragon crouched behind her.

  Her knees buckled under her when she saw Marcus up close and the two massive, blue-green wings completely blocking out the sun behind him. Light bounced off sparkling aqua scales that matched the color of his eyes exactly a moment before his wings folded neatly and disappeared behind him.

  Was she dreaming?

  “Now we shall speak with no more running.” He stepped around her, heading for the entrance and leaving Sam to gape over the side of a cliff hundreds of feet above the ocean.