by Renee Wildes
She whimpered anew as he dragged her onto his lap. He slid one hot hand along her leg, stroking under her skirts. His touch was an exquisite torture, and he guided her thigh to one side so she straddled him. The shock of cradling his burning erection made her jerk away from his kiss. The motion rolled her hips into him, and it was his turn to groan.
Matteo pinned her with his heated gaze. “Shocking, isn’t it? I feel your struggle. A part of you wants this. A part of you doesn’t. Which part will win, I wonder?” He reached around to tug at the laces of her gown, loosening them until the material slid down to her waist.
The touch of sea-cool air on her overheated skin was a blessed but momentary relief. She pulled her arms free of the sleeves, terrified he’d use them as a restraint. Matteo cupped her breasts in his hands, teasing her nipples with his thumbs until she thought she’d scream. He captured one in his mouth, pulling strongly, teasing the very tip of her nipple with his tongue.
Tension coiled, low and deep. “Matteo!” she cried.
He shuddered and raised his head. Triumph and lust glittered in his eyes. “Say my name again.”
Her body ached for his touch. That’s all this was—lust. He but commanded her body, never her heart. Did this gain her freedom, she’d grant him this one concession. Finora ran her fingers through his hair. “Matteo,” she whispered. This time ’twas she who captured his mouth with hers.
He stood, and she wrapped herself around him as he carried her over to the bed. She tore his shirt from his body, running her hands over the hard muscles beneath his pale selkie skin. He shuddered beneath her touch, and she broke off her kiss to run her tongue along the side of his neck, scraping her teeth lightly over the pulse pounding in his throat. Would that her teeth were longer—she’d tear it out, ending everyone’s misery. “Matteo,” she whispered in his ear.
He set her down, shrugged out of the tattered remains of his shirt, shoved her gown down over her hips until it pooled in a heap at their feet.
Finora rained kisses across his chest, teasing his nipples with her tongue as she cupped his erection with her hands. He was huge. He’d tear her in two. “We’ll never fit,” she whispered.
He laughed, a breathless ring of dazed victory. “Aye, we will. You were made for me. Afore I’m through you’ll beg me to take you.” He tossed her on the bed, dragged her to the very edge and buried his head betwixt her thighs.
Stars, how her body craved that particular pleasure. Finora shut her mind off and yielded to the inevitable. Matteo was greedy, voracious. She lost count of the number of times she shattered under the skillful assault of his mouth, crying out her pleasure until she was exhausted and breathless. She wasn’t sure she could take much more. “Matteo, please.”
His eyes glittered up at her. “Never thought I’d hear you beg. Such a sweet sound.” He slid up to capture the breast he’d neglected earlier, teasing her nipple as he’d teased her nether jewel. She rolled her hips up at him in aching, pulsing need, quivering all over. He grasped her legs in his hands, pulling them over his shoulders. He broke off suckling to growl, “What do you want?”
“Matteo, please.” Beyond pride, empty, needy, she writhed under him.
“Tell me what you want.” He probed her slick folds with just the head of his erection.
“Matteo!” She rocked against him. “You. I need you. Please. Take me now.” The words left an ugly taste in her mouth, but then he surged into her and time just…stopped.
Matteo grunted as he thrust into her. “So hot, so tight.” The slide of his enormous shaft was a burning, almost painful pleasure that built relentlessly. He was lost in finding his own release, held her down with bruising force. Finora coiled tighter and tighter around him as he stroked that sweet spot deep inside her with ruthless repetition. His face flushed, his body glistened with sweat as her channel tightened on him.
This was the power of the beast. Her world blew apart as she shattered around him, as he poured himself into her. Her last thought was “Trystan, forgive me” afore the world went dark.
***
Home at last. Her deception had worked. The following morning, after a bath and a meal, Matteo had wasted no time in bringing her afore her sire. Finora glanced around the familiar courtyard. She eyed the selkie bulls standing guard amongst the marble columns. How white they were, the great stones and columns, without the staining of blood. But she knew the tridents the bulls held were not strictly ceremonial. Were Griogair to order it, this hall would run as red with blood as Matteo’s. Were all bulls killers at heart? Was there truly another way, or did she and Fiona merely delude themselves?
Finora watched her parents’ approach. Fiona rushed to embrace her. Finora flinched as Matteo’s grip tightened over the healing cut on her hip.
“Are you all right?” Fiona, too perceptive by far, asked. Her nostrils flared as she caught the intermingled scents of Matteo and Finora. She shot her daughter a sharp glance.
Finora pasted on a big fake smile. “I’m fine.”
King Griogair stood afore them. “Daughter.” He, too, could hardly miss the unmistakable scent of Claiming. “What is this?”
She knelt at his feet, a level of respect she’d not shown Matteo. The bruises on her body protested. Bruises Matteo, to his credit, had not intended to inflict. Not in anger, merely in passion. A passion Trystan would surely never forgive her for. But was she able to be free, to be reunited with her children, she’d pay any price.
Any.
Griogair’s eyes narrowed at her stiffness. “You’re hurt.” He glared at Matteo, and his hands curled into fists. “What have you done to my daughter?”
Matteo’s eyes willed her to speak. Dared her to speak.
“I’m all right, Sire. Truly. ’Twas but a rather…rigorous…Claiming ceremony.” Finora’s cheeks burned at that confession, but her innate honesty demanded that truth.
Fiona gasped. “Claiming ceremony?”
Matteo drew himself up. “Did we not have an Intending ceremony? Did I not restore her lost skin to her, enabling her return? Are we not royal peers? I demand you acknowledge our pact, and honor our arrangement.”
Griogair’s gaze swept the hall. “Everyone, leave us.” All fled, including bodyguards, until only the four royals remained. Gossip was undoubtedly running rampant through the halls. Finora’s father pinned Matteo with his gaze. “King Freine is dead.”
“Aye.”
“My arrangement with him is now void.”
“I would have you make a new arrangement…through your daughter…with me.”
Fiona glared at Matteo. “She’s hurt.”
“I but Claimed what was rightfully mine,” Matteo growled.
Griogair turned to Finora. “Was it rape?”
Fiona flinched at that ugly word.
Finora shook her head. “Nay.”
He studied her, eyes keen. “You took him willingly? You acknowledge the Claiming heart and soul?”
It was now or never. “Nay, Sire. I but used my body to convince him to bring me afore you. I claim the sanctuary of your house, your aid in righting a grievous wrong done to you through me and mine.”
“Granted,” Griogair stated.
Finora dove behind her sire as Matteo’s face reddened, then darkened. “What treachery is this?” he demanded.
“In Cilaniestra’s name I charge you, Matteo, with the abduction and enslavement of my children. You traded my children for my skin with the dragon-wizard, and attempted to kill the guardian wolf Niadh when he tried to stop you.”
She’d only been guessing, but when Cilaniestra didn’t strike her dead she knew she’d grasped the truth. Griogair’s brows lowered. “How far you’d reach, son of Freine, to harm those of my blood.”
Matteo’s liquid brown eyes spat fire beneath his heavy brows as he drew himself to his full height. His lip curled into a sneer. “Her human children will come to no harm. They’re sworn to Cilaniestra’s service.”
Griogair shook his head
at Matteo’s transparent attempt at intimidation, as if the younger bull’s greater bulk was of no concern. “Only one of blood can gift a child to divine service. As the fisherman is dead, only Finora can turn her children over to Cilaniestra’s service.”
Finora swayed as hope swelled in a dizzying wave. “Then there’s still hope?”
“There’s always hope,” Fiona declared. She knelt down aside her daughter, taking hold of her hands in a firm, light grip. Such deceptive delicacy hiding such strength. Strong women existed everywhere.
Finora thought of Trystan’s sister, Moira, and smiled. “I am now king, and your equal,” Matteo snarled at Griogair. “I demand you honor your vow and turn Finora over to me. We have shared the Intending and the Claiming ceremonies. Even now she may carry my offspring.”
Oh, stars. She’d lost sight of that one little fact. Tears burned. Surely fate wouldn’t be that cruel.
“You demand? You arrogant pup! Even in the face of your crimes, you demand? In my very house?” Griogair roared. “Guards!”
There was a scuffling outside the doors as half a dozen armed bulls entered at a run to encircle Matteo with tridents pointed.
“Think long and hard on this,” Matteo warned. “Would you risk open war on your border, over one whore of a she-pup?”
Griogair’s fist lashed out, knocking Matteo to the hard tile floor in a spray of blood. “Take him away.”
“Then war it is.” Matteo grasped his ruined nose as he was removed from the hall.
Finora turned worried eyes to her sire. “Oh, Sire, nay. You can’t risk open war. I’ll have no lives lost on account of me.”
Griogair shook his head. “He’s lusted to control both kingdoms his entire life. Were it not for this excuse, he’d have found another.” He snorted. “If I can’t handle that sorry excuse for a misbegotten pup, then I don’t deserve my crown.” He turned to Fiona. “Take her to the baths, then both of you return. We’ve a rescue to plan.”
Chapter Fifteen
Trystan tugged at his restraints to no avail. The more he pulled, the tighter the knots drew. Every time he tried to shift a swirl of images prevented him from locking onto the wolf. Badger-wolf-badger-wolf. Had to be a spell. Simple, but effective. How to fight it? His hands and feet were numb from the knots. His head still pounded from the backlash of power that had tossed him clear across the room. He’d been an absolute lunatic to attack a dragon with his bare hands. He was lucky to be alive and in one piece.
An idea tickled the edge of his mind. His stomach roiled at the thought. Badger-wolf-badger-wolf. He stared at his hand. Sun and moon, this was going to hurt. “Badger-wolf-badger-wolf,” he whispered, accepting, twisting the magic, restricting it. Savage pain crackled along his forearm, as it morphed, shrank, down to badger-paw, stretching back to wolf. Grey-black, small-smaller. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, to hold back a cry of pain as joints popped and bones ground together. Fire danced along his nerves. His back arched as his entire body jerked…and his hand pulled free. He collapsed, gasping as his hand tore through the fur and pads lengthened back into fingers. Fingers that tingled unmercifully as the blood rushed into them. He panted. His eyes burned. One down, only three more to go.
When it was over he could barely move. He lay there gasping for breath, willing his vision to clear and his stomach to settle. The children. He had to find the children, make sure they were all right. His heart ached with sorrow and rage. He could no longer feel Niadh’s pain. That could mean only one thing.
Niadh was dead.
To die so far from kith and kin, on a foreign shore… “I swear, all will know ye gave yer life in defense o’ bairns,” he vowed.
“Who died?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway. “Shoulda known I’d find ye lyin’ about in bed.”
Trystan rolled off the bed onto the floor and staggered to his feet. “Niadh?” he croaked.
“Mostly.” Niadh, bald and naked, sagged against the door frame.
“Ye look terrible.”
Niadh grinned, but his eyes were haunted. “I look a lot better than I did. Anuk healed me an’ set me free. She held Spiridon off long ’nough for me t’ escape.”
Trystan reached for Niadh with his mind. Naught. There was naught there. The link was broken. “What’s happened?”
“’Tis gone.” Niadh’s expression was bleak. “I’m guardian no longer. The wolf is gone. I canna shift. When that demon dragon invoked the human, everything shattered.”
Trystan grasped his mentor’s wrists. “Ye shall always be a guardian. When we get home, we shall be restored. Ye just wait an’ see.”
“Where are the children?”
Trystan went to rip the sheet off the bed, tearing it in half and holding it out to Niadh. “Here. Ye canna prance about in naught but yer skin. All the women shall swoon.”
Niadh wrapped it around his hips. “Thanks.”
“They’re somewhere on this floor,” Trystan stated. “Place isna that big. We’ll just look for a locked door an’ kick it in.”
Niadh grinned, albeit weakly. “Just like old times.”
Trystan’s heart warmed. “Absolutely. Here’s t’ future old times.”
They strode down the hallway. A terrific tremor shook the house, and flames shot up the far wall. Voices screamed from the floor below them, and Trystan heard the sound of pounding feet running for the nearest exit. “I think they’ve got the right idea!” he shouted. “The dragons must be takin’ it up a level.”
Niadh tried the first door. It opened easily, to reveal a linen closet. “She dinna kill ye. She saved me. What did ye say t’ her?”
“I but gave her a history lesson. In truth, I think I but confirmed sommat she’d heard afore.” Trystan found the first locked door. “Here.” Together they kicked, until the lock gave way.
Ioain cowered behind Braeca, who screamed and threw the remains of a lamp at them. Brave lass. Terrible aim. “Easy, there,” Trystan soothed. “’Tis me. Are ye all right?”
“Twystan!” Ioain launched himself across the room and into Trystan’s arms, sobbing.
“Ssh, it’s all right. We’re gettin’ ye both outta here,” Niadh whispered.
Ioain stared at him. “Woof?”
Trystan froze. “Can ye still see the wolf, laddie?”
Ioain nodded. “He’s…hurt. But he’s there.”
Braeca crept closer as Niadh closed his eyes, mouthing a prayer of gratitude. “What happened to your hair?”
Niadh opened eyes that glistened with a sheen of tears. “Stupid dragon scared it clean off me head.” As jokes went, ’twas a weak one. But Trystan was overjoyed Niadh was strong enough to make jokes at all.
The house shook again, an explosion of wood and plaster and glass erupting from the burning far wall as two enormous scaled forms shot into the sky. “Time t’ go!” Niadh yelled. “Down the stairs afore the whole place collapses!” The children followed him out into the street, with Trystan bringing up the rear. There they stood, gawking, with the rest of the villagers who’d gathered to watch the flaming spectacle overhead.
***
“Traitor! How dare you defy me?”
Anuk swerved to avoid the fireball her father flung at her. “You lied to me!”
Human screams below told her their battle was witnessed.
“You’re my child,” he roared. “Bound to obey.” Spiridon dove for her head, black talons outstretched.
She barely tilted out of the way of her smaller sire, snaked her head around to rake his serpentine neck with her fangs. The coppery taste of his blood was sweet on her tongue. “You told me I had no magic.”
Spiridon snorted. “Pitiful beginner spells. Crude at best.”
“They might be crude, but they’re mighty,” she retorted. “I healed and freed Niadh. What you plan is wrong! What we’re doing is wrong!”
“They must pay!” Spiridon snarled. With a great inhalation, he puffed himself up, then released another toxic cloud of gas and fla
me.
She heard distant screams below, from the human witnesses.
As if dragon-fire could hurt her. An impressive visual, but more a nuisance, a mere distraction, really. “Who? These Arcadian clans? Why? What have they done that your hatred burns so bright?” Anuk asked. “Tell me.”
“They turned her against me.”
Now, maybe, finally, they got to the truth. Anuk’s carnelian wings faltered. She tired rapidly. “Who?”
“Your mother,” Spiridon answered.
The book hissed. Anuk all but fell from the sky. “What?”
“Guardian, they called her. And she chose them over me, to stay with the mountain clans rather than me. Her mate! Worse, she tried to keep you from me.” His gold eyes glittered madly above the bright crimson blood streaming from the gash in his neck.
Was it her wishful thinking or did his wings slow a fraction? “Tried?” Dread filled her. “Obviously she did not succeed. How did you stop her? How did you beat her?”
“I tried to take her egg. She fought me. Fought me. Her beloved mate. I killed her, and took you.”
“You killed my mother?” Anuk crashed into the belltower of the meeting house. Something snapped in her wing. In blinding pain she tumbled to the frozen ground, barely missing the humans gawking at the battle. Had they no survival instinct?
The book screamed in her head.
“They turned her against me, those mountain savages. Foul beast-humans who dwell in caves and around campfires! But I showed them. I bound you to me, so no one could take you from me. You’re my daughter. Join me, and together we can rule this pitiful human race.”
Pain morphed her into her unclad human form, and she cradled her broken arm close. “You’re mad!” she screamed aloud. “You’re a murderer. Where are the others? The other dragons?”