Primal Pleasure: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 3

by Sydney Somers

  “I’m in no mood for games,” one of the men snarled.

  What was she waiting for? She’d lost the element of surprise—if she’d even had it to begin with—and from the way the taller one was sizing her up, the dragon was going to strike.

  Cian unzipped his pants, stripping out of them and his shirt before sending one more curious glance at his mate.

  “We know who you are, Emma of Lamorak.”

  The fire in her palm faltered, nearly extinguishing. “I’m afraid you have me confused with my sister.”

  Sister?

  The shorter one—a Fae—shook his head. “We know why you wear the jacket, Emma.”

  Her face gave nothing away, but the first scent of real fear from her unleashed the cat inside him.

  His vision sharpened as he gave himself over to the change. Bones and muscles realigned, and he pawed the ground, his senses magnified in his animal form.

  “I’d rather you just came along quietly.” This from the dragon. “But my friend here doesn’t mind getting rough with his females.”

  Cian leaped down onto a stack of industrial-sized containers, then to the ground below, planting himself between the pair and Emma.

  He didn’t have to worry about the dragon. Only one with a death wish would shift within a thousand miles of any human population. Cian was pushing it himself, but at a distance, humans could talk themselves into thinking he was no more than a large dog. He shuddered at the thought.

  The dragon, however, would have every huntress on his ass if he was that stupid. The Fae posed more of a threat at the moment. The Fae race was the oldest of all immortals, and their ability to fabricate complex glamours that could trick someone into seeing something that wasn’t there made them highly unpredictable.

  “If you come willingly, we won’t have to turn your furry friend into a throw rug.”

  Cian snarled, and only the brush of Emma’s fingers along his back eased the feral instinct to kill the threat to his mate.

  “You can certainly try, but I think it’s only fair to warn you that he’s one of the Guard.”

  The dragon instantly took a step back, his head bowing in a show of respect. He shot his friend an apologetic look. “I didn’t sign up for tangling with one of Arthur’s gargoyles, bro.”

  The Fae shrugged. “If you’re out, that leaves more of the reward for me.” He fixed his attention on Emma. “The Guard is obsolete.”

  Cian tracked the Fae’s progress as he circled to the left. The dragon, although he hadn’t left, retreated to the far sidewalk.

  “Reward for what?” Emma demanded, the soothing touch of her fingers betraying none of her anxiousness.

  “For delivering you to Gareth.”

  Emma’s fingers dug into his fur, and Cian snarled at the Fae.

  Unconcerned, he circled them, his movements slow, precise. A burst of fire shot past Cian, and the Fae shimmered and vanished.

  Not the Fae, Cian realized, lunging to intercept the immortal who had used a glamour to mask his attack from the opposite direction.

  Steel struck cement as the Fae slashed with the sword he’d also concealed. Snapping his jaws, Cian caught only the Fae’s clothing, and the rip of fabric only fueled his need to sink his teeth into him.

  He didn’t have a clue who Gareth was, or if Emma deserved the price he had apparently put on her head. It didn’t change the fact that Cian would be the one walking away with the female.

  The Fae’s sword whistled past his head, and he waited as the immortal drew his arm back for another strike, then sprang forward. He hit the bastard in the chest, taking him to the ground.

  Pain ripped across Cian’s side, and the Fae kicked him off. Blood trickled on the ground, but he’d already pivoted for another strike.

  Another burst of fire from Emma caught the Fae’s shoulder. His expression turned murderous and he flung his arm out, backhanding her.

  Red sliced across the cat’s vision as Cian surrendered entirely to the cat.

  His mate hit the ground, but then so did the Fae as she swept her leg out and knocked his feet out from beneath him.

  Cian lunged forward, closing his teeth around the bastard’s throat.

  “Wait.” Emma touched his back. “If you kill him, then he can’t tell Gareth that he won’t get what he wants.”

  He glanced at the Fae, his jaws itching to snap shut. The Fae had struck his mate— that alone was enough of a reason to finish him.

  “I won’t have blood spilled over me if I can help it. Please,” she added when he still hadn’t eased his grip.

  The Fae twitched beneath him, and Cian couldn’t help it—he tightened his hold.

  “He promises to get lost. Right?” She directed the last part to the Fae, then cocked her head. “Was that blink for yes or no?”

  The Fae blinked rapidly.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a yes.”

  It could have been a blood promise and he still wouldn’t have let go. Sighing, Emma picked up the sword the Fae had dropped and tossed it behind her. “Does that make you feel any better?”

  He’d feel better if the Fae was dead and no longer a threat to her, but finally relaxed his jaw. Backing away slowly, he prayed for the Fae to make just one wrong move, even a hint of one.

  The other immortal scrambled to his feet, his hand going to his injured throat. The flow of blood had unfortunately started to slow. In a couple of hours there wouldn’t be any sign of the wound at all.

  Slowly, the Fae backtracked. Instead of watching his retreat, Cian watched his mate. She’d seen through the Fae’s glamour, and by following her gaze he wouldn’t be fooled again.

  Only when the Fae joined the dragon and they disappeared around the corner did he sit back and stare at the sorceress. She stared right back at him, waiting.

  “Are you planning on sitting there until someone spots you and calls animal control? I’ll bet the zoo would love to put you on display. You could roll around on your back and hiss at the tourists.”

  He snorted, but didn’t move, unsure if he could trust himself not to pursue the Fae.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Hearing Emma’s voice, he realized he’d already taken a few steps in that direction.

  “I don’t need your death on my conscience.”

  He growled, insulted that she didn’t believe he could have protected her.

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes as if understanding him completely. “I’m not talking about the Fae taking you out.”

  Take him out where?

  She studied something above his head. “It’s the sorcerer that he’s working for I’m worried about. As much as you’ve been a colossal thorn in my side, I have no desire to see your furry ass skinned and declawed.”

  Had he been a man he might have missed the subtle undercurrent of…fear?

  She was afraid for him? She’d used her magic to curse him because of something Tristan had said, and now she worried what would happen to him?

  “Whoa.” She took a hasty step back. “You’re naked.”

  Somewhere between his confusion and pleasure that she didn’t want his furry ass hurt—he was rather fond of it himself—he’d seamlessly shifted back.

  “Who is Gareth?”

  She averted her gaze—because she didn’t want to answer or because he wasn’t wearing anything? He dismissed the latter immediately. She’d seen him without any clothing on before.

  Her gaze drifted to his chest before darting away again, only to return a heartbeat later. “You’re hurt.”

  He shrugged, the pain in his side barely noticeable compared to what a glimpse of that barely veiled hunger in her eyes did to him. Except it was more than that, wasn’t it? Like what he’d sensed during their night together—something deeper. Something that had him moving closer.

  I wasn’t expecting that. Wasn’t expecting you.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  He frowned.

  “Make up your mind ga
rgoyle. Hate me or…” She trailed off.

  “Or,” he prompted.

  “Whatever. We don’t have time for this now. It won’t be the zoo that gets called about a bleeding, naked man in the streets. How good are you at pretending you’re wasted?”

  “Wasted? As in pretending to be garbage?”

  She smiled. “No. Drunk. Landing in the drunk tank for a few hours is probably better than being arrested under suspicion of some other crime.” She let out a breath.

  She did that a lot. Released a breath and ran her finger across her cheek to catch any loose strands of hair before tucking them back behind her ear. The movement drew his attention to the soft curve of her jaw where he’d pressed his lips before. She had moaned then, a soft hiss of pleasure that gave him all kinds of dangerous thoughts.

  Like how good it would feel to run his tongue up to her mouth, or lower, down her throat and stopping when he reached between her legs.

  “Where are your clothes?” A flush of color brightened her cheeks, just like the night in his room when he’d stripped out of his shirt.

  “A sorceress with a guilty conscience and uncomfortable with nudity.”

  “Not all nudity. Just yours.”

  She smacked his hand away before he could curl his fingers around the delicate shell of her ear. “Stop that.”

  “I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

  “The dragon and Fae made me nervous. You just annoy me.”

  At the mention of the Fae, he growled, his animal half itching beneath his skin.

  “Oh no.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You go all cat on me now and I’ll turn you into a carnival toy.”

  “Truly?”

  Her chin dropped only a fraction. “Without even blinking.”

  He laughed. “Make up your mind, sorceress. Hate me or…” He trailed off intentionally as she had moments ago.

  “Where. Are. Your. Clothes?”

  “On the roof.”

  She followed his gaze, holding out her hands. Her eyes brightened from gray to a brilliant purple, the pulse of power like the drag of a hot feather up his spine.

  “Here.” She turned and thrust something into his arms.

  He didn’t need to look down to know it was his clothes. He caught her hand before she could back up. Watching her face closely, he teased his thumb across the inside of her wrist.

  Her gaze snapped to his, and he lifted her hand to his face, his eyes sliding shut. The cat stretched its claws in pure pleasure at her touch, making it even harder to get the words out.

  “I can’t live like this, Emma. I can’t keeping fighting myself. Can’t keep wanting you this much when it’s nothing more than a lie.” He turned his face into her palm. “You need to make it stop. Please.”

  The rough plea twisted Emma’s heart. “I can’t.” Damn Elena for putting her in this position.

  Music blared between them, and he dropped her hand.

  Seeing the confusion on his face, she slipped her ringing phone out of his pocket. “It’s just my cell. Get dressed.”

  Facing the sidewalk and hopefully keeping herself between Cian and anyone who strolled by, she glanced at the call display.

  Elena. About freaking time.

  She didn’t even waste time with hello as she answered. “You’ve really done it this time, you know that?”

  “Thank Avalon you’re okay.”

  Emma frowned, hearing the relief in Elena’s voice. Okay, she hadn’t been expecting that.

  “You’re in trouble, Em.”

  She slid a sidelong glance to the gargoyle tugging on his pants. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “It’s Gareth.”

  “I know. Two of his lackeys were just here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Another glance at the man behind her. “Mostly.”

  Cian cocked his head. “Emma?” He held up his shirt. “What happened to this?”

  The expensive shirt he’d been wearing was full of holes. Damn.

  She ignored his question. “You and I need to talk.”

  Elena blew out a breath, and she felt her unease increase. Even neck deep in trouble, Elena rarely sounded worried. “I know. Meet me at Leah’s. I’ll be there in less than an hour. I’ve already reserved Leah a suite at the Bellagio for a couple nights to keep her out of harm’s way.”

  “You sure she’ll be safe enough? I can—”

  “She’ll be fine. You need to worry about yourself for once, Em. Gareth isn’t screwing around this time.”

  “You think he’ll try again.”

  “We both knew your last refusal to honor the alliance would only buy you a little more time.” Static echoed over the line. “Is the gargoyle still with you?”

  “How did—”

  “Keep him with you, Em. You need him.”

  “What I need is for you to undo—”

  A dial tone echoed in her ear. Elena had hung up on her.

  Oh no. She punched in Elena’s number, cursing under her breath when the call went right to voicemail. Taking a deep breath, she slipped the phone into her bag and faced Cian.

  “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

  “You could at least pretend to sound surprised.”

  “My brother mentioned that he and Sorcha crossed paths with more than one immortal eager to find you.”

  Big surprise there. “Would you believe me if I said it was just one big misunderstanding?”

  “Which part? Other immortals hunting you or this Gareth sending people to bring you to him?”

  Refusing to think about Gareth right now—the determined sorcerer an even bigger pain in her ass than Cian—she started for the sidewalk. “It’s not safe to stay here.” It wouldn’t be safe for her anywhere if Gareth was intent on finding her. She’d foolishly hoped he and her father had found someone else to use in their power play against the other houses. Apparently not.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you undo this.” He motioned to the space between them like there was literally something binding them together.

  Thinking about what Elena had said, she shook her head. “You think those kinds of castings can be done anywhere?” She didn’t mention she wouldn’t be doing any of them.

  His eyes narrowed briefly. Too bad the suspicious look he threw at her didn’t make him any less sexy. His ruined shirt wasn’t helping either with all those fine abdominal muscles on display.

  “Are you trying to get me alone, sorceress?”

  “I’m trying to give you what you want. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  He closed the gap between them, and her attention slipped to his mouth before she could stop herself. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t, but what other choice do you have?”

  “Aside from locking you up and throwing away the key?”

  “Yeah, because that worked so well for you the first time.”

  He smiled, but the feral edge to it warned her that the cat was still very close to the surface.

  She turned away, half surprised he made no move to stop her, but the second her back was turned, he jerked her against him.

  “One more thing.” His lips brushed her ear, and she called on every molecule of self-preservation she possessed to ignore the heat that seeped into her back. “You owe me a new shirt.”

  She owed him more than that, or Elena did anyway. Nodding, she stepped away from him the moment he released her.

  Leah’s loft was only a few blocks from the Strip, but walking next to Cian, feeling his gaze burning into her the whole way, made it feel more like half a continent away.

  “You count cards.”

  Startled after walking for so long in silence, she only nodded. She couldn’t see the point in lying about it. After today they wouldn’t be crossing paths. At least she intended to do everything possible to avoid him in the future.

  “Why not magic?”

  She shrugged. “I’m good with numbers.” B
etter than she was with magic, as evidenced by the shredded shirt he wore.

  He gave her that look again, like she didn’t make sense to him. He gestured to her jacket. “Why are you wearing that?”

  “I have a fondness for outerwear?”

  “It’s hot and sunny and you are dressed for a crisp autumn night.”

  “It’s comfortable.” And it wasn’t the heat from the sun that was threatening to set her skin on fire. Every time he looked at her, as if remembering the feel of her beneath his mouth, another nerve ending went up in flames.

  “Then what did the Fae mean when he said he knew why you wore it?”

  “I have a scar.” It wasn’t a lie, but the scar that crisscrossed the ivy tracing that ran the length of her spine didn’t make her feel half as self-conscious as knowing other immortals could assess her strength with a single glance.

  Cian planted himself in her path. “Someone hurt you?”

  She knew her sister’s spell was to blame for the possessive anger in his voice, but for a moment she pretended he really meant it. No one but Leah and Elena had ever been protective of her, and thinking of the cat ready to do the guilty party damage touched a place deep inside her.

  Not real, she finally reminded herself. “It was just a childhood prank gone wrong.” That’s what her father had insisted even though the ten-year-old sorceress responsible had damn well meant it.

  The weak deserve to be put down. Two centuries later and the bitch’s words still echoed in Emma’s head.

  He caught her hand, the tenderness in his eyes stopping her dead in her tracks. “For such a powerful sorceress, you don’t hide your pain very well.”

  Her throat grew tight, but before she could imagine what it would be like to have him soothe those old hurts, she ducked around him. “Careful, Sylvester. You’re already too attached to me as it is.”

  “Sylvester?”

  “You know. Bugs Bunny. Daffy Duck. Sylvester.” Maybe he hadn’t spent enough time watching television to know who she was talking about.

  “The cat that always fails to catch his prey?” He scoffed at the comparison, apparently having seen an episode or two.