by Paula Quinn
“The Aqua were among the first to inhabit the earth sometime around 16BC. They were a proud and mighty lot, unlike the Greens, their distant cousins, who were friend to any species in power at any given time. Or the Reds, who were a warrior genus. And then there are the Whites, who lived mostly in Scotland. They were the priests if you will, or peacemakers among all the classes. Marcus warred with them for many years.”
Sam’s eyes opened wide. “Marcus is mentioned in that book?”
“Yes, apparently, this book was written by a White who transformed, as they call it.”
“What does it say?” Sam was almost out of her seat to see for herself.
“Well,” Ellie pushed her eyeglasses further up the bridge of her nose and opened the book. “I’m sure whoever wrote this was quite bias against our Marcus, but it says that he was a renegade Drakkon, hunted by other transformed Drakkon for many years. The poor boy is not even aware that some of the knights who hunted him were transformed Reds and Greens.” Ellie looked at Sam over her spectacles. “He cannot read our language, hence he has never read this book.”
Sam bit her lip and shook her head, her heart breaking once again for the sleeping dragon upstairs.
“Anyway, it says here… ‘Marrkiya of the Eleventh, called so because of the century he was born in, turned against mankind and Drakkon alike, and was hunted, but neither man nor any other could stop him. His strength and power went unmatched throughout time, and as of this writing, there has yet to be a Drakkon strong enough to conquer him.” Ellie stopped for a moment, scowling at the pages.
“Here is the bad part, Sam. It says that evil drove him to madness. A destroyer of cities, he ravaged men, women, and children alike with the mighty fire in a delusional plot to vanquish mankind. Marrkiya the Aqua, it says, does love no soul either living or dead, not even his own, but curses all to ashes.” Ellie stopped reading hearing Sam’s slight gasp of breath.
“You know it’s not true, dear. This was written by his enemy.”
“But why?” Sam felt like she was going to be sick. “Why would they say such terrible things about him?”
“Because he fought the change, Samantha. He didn’t agree that transformation was the only answer that would keep the Drakkon alive. At first, he wanted to fight, but then it says he did try to go before the Council with requests to speak with Sir George of the High Order of Knights. The Whites refused, but Marcus tried anyway. Sir George shot him with a golden arrow, the only thing that can kill a full-blooded Drakkon and left Marrkiya to die. But Marrkiya was rescued, carried to a forgotten part of the world, according to this author, and when he returned a century later and stronger, he made war with man. His race turned against him and he fought alone.”
“Who saved him?
“It doesn’t say. But the Whites are all afraid of him. This author, Patrick White he is called, says that ‘as of the writing of this book, we endeavor to find Marrkiya and transform him ourselves.’”
“They found him and did it, Ellie,” Sam said quietly.
“Yes, dear, they did.” Ellie sighed, mirroring the sorrow Sam wore on her face. “There’s a painting of him in this book. Would you like to see it?”
Sam nodded, but accepted the book with nervous apprehension. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what Marcus looked like before, if it would frighten her or make her look at him now any differently.
“Page four hundred and sixty-three,” Ellie told her.
Sam eyed Ellie with a slight smile for memorizing the page, then turned to it and closed her eyes. She opened them an instant later and looked down. Immediately, tears filled her vision. He was breathtaking. God help her, it was odd to see him as he really was. It made her stomach knot, her breath still. The painting was a portrait of sorts, done of his majestic head turned slightly to the side. He didn’t look evil, but gloriously proud.
Sam touched her fingers to the shimmering aqua teardrop shaped scales tipped with deep purple. They looked almost like soft feathers. His face was wide and strong, his nose was not sharp but bluntly cut with flaring, upturned nostrils. Enormous canine teeth peeked from under his upper jaw. But it was his eyes that would haunt Sam forever.
For they were the same eyes she looked into this morning. They were large and alive with power and emotions, slanting slightly upward in the outer corners, shadowed by his majestic, protruding brow. He was nothing short of enchanting…the most terrifyingly beautiful creature she had ever seen.
“He looks so sad, Ellie.”
“I know.”
Rising from her chair, Sam handed Ellie back her book and patted her hand. “I’m going to go check on him and then make us some tea.”
As Sam climbed the stairs, she remembered how angry she was with him this morning and she wished she could kick herself. Inadvertently, she had indeed poisoned the poor man. It was no wonder he was in such a foul mood when Eric arrived. She wondered if Marcus was truly jealous of Eric and then laughed at herself.
Marcus lusted for her, nothing else. If he was jealous, it was because, like it or not, he was part beast, and beasts were possessive with what they wanted. Which brought her back to her earlier fear. Would Marcus be a threat to other people in her life? He seemed to like Ellie enough. Then again, Ellie was a woman.
She reached his room and knocked softly on the door. When he didn’t answer, she entered, grimacing when the old wood creaked. It was the first time she’d come to his room, even though he hadn’t been living there but a couple of days. She stepped inside and looked around. His long, black coat was thrown over a small bench near the flaming hearth. Thank God, the man could chop wood and had such an affinity for fire. The castle had been freezing before he came here and winter hadn’t even officially arrived.
There were no signs of his clothes and Sam was pleased to imagine he had them all neatly folded in the drawers of his wardrobe. She was tempted to look, but knowing she’d probably knock something over and wake him, she passed the large dresser and stepped around the bed. She ran her hand over the thick wooden frame smiling softly that he would pick the room with the oldest furniture in it.
She looked down at him, sighing. A single cotton sheet covered him up to his bare chest. One arm was hidden beneath it, while the other arm was thrown over his head. Soft raven waves splashed his pillow, surrounded by muscle. Sam felt his forehead with the back of her fingers, checking for a fever, and careful not to wake him. He shifted on the bed and the sheet slipped off his bent knee. Sam’s eyes followed the curve of his strong legs and suppressed the urge to touch him.
Are you missing me?
Perhaps, a little. She smiled, watching him come awake. When he opened his eyes, he gazed at her with a look of such replete yearning she grew weak and sat next to him on the bed. She forgot her misgivings, all of them, and touched her fingers to his face. “Forgive me for poisoning you. I didn’t know.”
“I know.” He smiled at her. “Forgive me for being a monster.”
She nodded and let him entwine his fingers through hers as he sat up.
“I felt you missing me,” he said, leaning in toward her. There was a spark of wonder in his gaze that made her want to smile. “I liked it. Do it again.”
Sam blushed and his smile grew into a wide, sensual grin. “You would have to go away for me to miss you.”
“Maybe I shall go away then.”
She shook her head. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”
He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“It’s Ellie,” Marcus whispered. “She worries over us. I just told her we’d be down in a moment.”
“I saw the book you gave her,” Sam told him gently. “Who is the author, Patrick White? Do you know him?”
He nodded. “He is Padgora, the one who altered me. Our names are changed after we are transformed.”
Sam scowled and moved away from him. “The Padgora whose wife you slept with?”
He caught he
r wrist before she left the edge of the bed. “What is this anger you’re feeling? Are you jealous, Sam?
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she laughed. But she was. Oh, she was! She hated the thought of him with someone else, naked and—
“It is the same way I feel about Eric, nay?” he asked.
“Maybe, but I didn’t give myself to Eric.”
“I didn’t give myself to Amanda either.”
“But you slept…you made love to her.”
“It wasn’t love. It was revenge.”
Sam sighed. She doubted he would ever understand. “Revenge is wrong, Marcus. And it doesn’t matter why you took her to bed. I still don’t like it.”
She didn’t expect his smile to be so radiant. She certainly didn’t expect to smile back at him when he spoke.
“Then I vow never to take another woman to bed, save you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Samantha watched him where he sat in the kitchen with her and Ellie, enjoying his lunch.
Ellie had made them BLT’s with extra bacon between Marcus’ bread. He laughed at something her friend said. Sam laughed, too, but she wasn’t really listening to the conversation.
How had her life become a surreal fairy tale, where the villain was now the hero? How was it possible that Marcus was once a dragon? Dragons were real. That truth alone had nearly sent her over the edge.
Marcus would have caught her.
She trusted him when she had every reason not to. She feared being rejected and abandoned again—and Marcus was too interested in plundering virgins to rely on. But she did. It made her want to cry, not because she didn’t understand how she could feel this way, but because she did understand. He’d left her twice and came back. He’d invested his money and his time in her. Neither of which he’d likely get back. He’d dressed like a knight for her, let her read his favorite passage from her book to him, and if all that weren’t enough, he didn’t plunder her.
She felt his eyes on her now, his presence softly probing her thoughts. She gave him a slight glare, warning him to give her some privacy. He obeyed, but the smile he offered her made her blush to her roots.
She rose to serve him and Ellie more milk. He could read her mind, hear her thoughts, and see her visions. Could she live with that? To never again have a secret? She thought about him listening now and lifted her gaze to him.
“I think I’ll go to town tomorrow,” Ellie was saying. “I need a new toaster.”
“I’ll escort you,” Marcus said. “Last time we shopped there, it seemed a bit raucous.”
“My dear, it was raucous because of you. Why, there had to be a dozen women following us from store-to-store, and we gathered more as we went.”
Sam laughed, imagining how the sight of him must have affected lesser mortals. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. She remembered seeing him for the first time, fully naked and upright, solidly sculpted to perfection.
“Me?” he asked, all innocence. “What did I do?”
Ellie pushed her spectacles down her nose and looked him over. “You don’t look like other men, dear.”
When he drew his hand down his stubbled cheek and jaw and then gave his shirt a curious touch, Sam took pity on him.
“You look less…tamed. Women like big and you’ve got that in the bag.”
He held up his palms and looked around. “I don’t even have a bag.”
That’s when it hit her. Marcus thought Marrkiya was beautiful. He didn’t know how sinfully attractive he was as a human.
I do now.
Sam glared at him, but he smiled and then he winked at her. “How much longer will you be staying?”
He sat back and relaxed in his chair. “As long as I’m needed.”
That could be a very long time.
Damn it! He’d listened. His beautiful cerulean gaze had gone soft on her, his smiled widened.
Come fly with me, Sam.
Was he joking? Not on your life.
“Let me clean up, Ellie,” she offered. “You go rest with your book.”
“I’ll help.”
Sam tried to discourage him by holding up her palm but he insisted.
A broken dish and her favorite mug later, she insisted.
“Meet me in the bailey in five minutes,” he said while he picked shards of clay off the floor.
“What for?” she asked.
“Fly with me, Sam. Why are you afraid?” he asked when she shook her head, refusing his offer. “You know I won’t let you fall.”
She believed him.
*
Exactly five minutes later, Marcus appeared in the bailey wearing jeans and boots and nothing else. “Did you miss me again, Sam?” he asked, lifting his large hands to cup her face. He moved in closer to her until she could feel every muscle in his body straining against hers. Tilting her face up toward his, he kissed her mouth until she grew weak. He withdrew with a ragged sigh.
Sam watched in blissful awe when he opened his eyes, so feverishly affected by her kiss. His vivid eyes gleamed a startling blue-green against the afternoon sun. His smile was a wide, slash of hungry heart aching, raw joy.
“I like kissing you,” he whispered roughly, dipping his forehead against hers.
“I like kissing you, too,” Sam breathed.
I am mad with desire for you. He told her silently. But there’s more to it. I want to make you happy. I find that I’m not happy unless you are. What does it mean?
She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she liked it. He made her feel reckless, shameless, and so eager she hardly recognized herself. When her hands fluttered over his shoulders and then closed around his neck, he groaned as if he was in pain. Without breaking their kiss, he wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her further into him. His kiss deepened, ravishing her further until he filled every one of her senses.
She smelled him, tasted him, felt him, and she could hear his breath, his thoughts in her mind. She could see what he wanted to do to her, as a man, not a Drakkon, and she melted in his arms and sighed into his mouth. Their hearts beat madly together, which only seemed to further his torture. He broke away from her mouth but stayed close enough to her so that they still shared breath. His gaze impaled her, stripped her of all her defenses, and when he spoke in his rumbling, musical voice, Sam cast those defenses into the wind.
“Fly with me.”
She nodded, staring wide-eyed into his powerful gaze and then gasped when his wings appeared, unfurling behind him. Some deep, delicate part of her told her to be afraid. For what she was looking at was so mysteriously beautiful, so brutally male and savage, she was sure he would hurt her if he took her. And taking her was exactly what was on his mind. It was in his searing sea-green eyes; the aching, tormented need to claim her with his body. And she wanted it, too.
She was tired of fighting it. She wanted to be his. She wanted to climb all over him and nibble on him. She wanted to feel him inside her, hard and heavy while she clung to him and probably cried her eyes out because for the first time in her life, she felt treasured. She refused to think about what would happen after she no longer carried the scent of a virgin. She only cared about this moment with him.
His wings snapped like giant pennants behind him, breathtaking, radiant aqua that made his eyes even more resplendent than they already were. He closed his arms around her and drew her in closer. He stared into her eyes, lost in some speechless awe she made him feel. And then he lifted her off her feet, beating his great wings until they were high above her home.
Sam couldn’t breathe, she was so afraid. She held her arms around his neck so tightly she was sure she was strangling him. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the strength in his arms as he brought her straight up, higher and higher.
“I won’t let you go, Samantha.” He pressed his lips against her ear and flapped harder, letting exhilaration fill her, the ecstasy of flying with him consume her. “Wrap your legs around mine.” When she did, he tilted his bo
dy forward and was about to carry her to the other side of the world, when they heard music. It filled them like ancient whispers and Marcus threw his head back lost in the terrible beauty of it.
“Marcus?” Sam gasped on a breath, “Where is that music coming from?”
She’d dreamed this the day he’d returned to her, hadn’t she? Lost in some glorious dance with him while they flew wrapped in each other’s arms. What did it mean? She looked up at him when he didn’t answer. His eyes poured into hers and then he blinked as if coming out of a spell and looked away. He knew what the music meant, but he wasn’t saying. Her heart crashed and she clutched him more tightly. He soared even higher until she closed her eyes and sucked in a soft gasp of the thin air.
“It’s hard to breathe, Marcus.”
Bending his head to hers, he captured her mouth and breathed air into her lungs. When he withdrew, he smiled at her and she smiled back. With a gentle shrug, he flexed his wings and she swirled with him toward the clouds, around and around until she grew dizzy and laughed in his tight embrace. He kissed her again, this time to the powerful, ancient echoes of a melody taught to the Drakkon alone.
Sam thought she had somehow died. Maybe she’d fallen off her horse and didn’t know it, and now she was spinning toward heaven, carried there by a magnificent azure angel. But how could an angel make her feel such wanton desire, such feverish passion? All she knew at that moment was that she belonged with him. She felt born to be in his arms, born to be caressed so fully, from neck-to-toe, by his strong, hard body. When he lifted his head from their kiss, she nearly she wept. Every throbbing beat of her heart beat for him alone. She shook with the emotion of feeling like she existed just for him.
She was falling in love with him. Madly, fiercely, passionately in love, so much so, that she thought if he let her go, she might just sprout wings of her own and fly from the joy of it. Some place deep within her fought the release of her heart. He would hurt her. He would leave her. But she didn’t want to think of that now. Not now.