by Elsa Jade
“What were the chances of a drakling saving us?”
“Never even thought about that one.” He closed his eyes. “Amy, you have no idea what you’ve given me. The drakling spirit…”
“I didn’t give it to you,” she protested, squirming against his grip. “You found it.”
He lifted his head to look down at her. “But I wouldn’t have. Not without you. I would’ve still been sitting at a dat-pad, running the numbers.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Because that real famous interstellar explorer wouldn’t’ve fallen into an ice whirlpool.”
“Because I’d never have been inspired to really join the adventure.” Though he was still naked and chilled from their dunking—or maybe because he was naked—having her so close sent a torrid surge through his body. He lowered his lashes to hide the glint of aroused gold he knew must be shimmering in his eyes. “That is what you gave me.”
She reached up to touch his cheek. “Thank you for falling in after me. And flying us out.”
“Any time.” Slowly, he lowered his head to brush his mouth over hers.
He’d meant it just as a thank-the-Shining-Lady-we’re-alive moment. But with the memory of flight and the Firestorm Queen still sparking in his veins, the first touch of her lips ignited a desire that wouldn’t be stopped with one kiss.
She breathed out, and the flavor of kyapa-sho feathered over his tongue. Unable to resist, he kissed her deeper, seeking the unique flavor of her underneath. And she seemed to be searching for something too, her hands roaming restlessly over his naked body, skimming up his chest and down his biceps, holding fast.
They were both panting by the time he raised his head, and he watched her with hooded eyes. “Would you like to fall again?”
Her kiss-ravaged lips curved in a sultry smile. “Just as long as it’s into a warm bed.”
“It’ll be super-heated soon enough.”
He wheeled her around toward the ridiculous boudoir bed which now seemed less ridiculous. She stripped out of her clothes as she went, and he groaned to see all those golden curves revealed to him. When they crashed together, they were both still chilled, their skin clammy. He chaffed down her back and tightened on the lushly curved handfuls of her hips.
She canted forward to press herself close, and even the memory of ice evaporated as she molded her lips to his.
A raw, animal hunger swept him like mighty wings and he growled low in his throat, spearing his fingers through the silky black strands of her hair to hold her in place while he feasted. From the eager way she squirmed against him, she was willing to be devoured.
“I almost lost you,” he said in a ragged voice.
“I’m right here,” she reminded him.
He pinned her to the pillows, as if he could keep her right there, in his bed, on this ship, in this galaxy.
And she dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, still aching from his first flight. He surged against her, nailing his hips between her thighs, and she spread her legs to take him.
Too soon, too fast, he cautioned his inner beast. Reluctantly, he eased back, trailing his lips down the column of her throat, flicking his tongue there over the racing of her pulse. When he fastened his lips over the dark tip of her breast, she gasped and arched up into him, offering herself. He remembered the trusting weight of her in his claws as he’d dragged her from the ice, and he wanted to roar in triumph.
But he had better things to do with his mouth. He licked a velvety circle around her nipple, teasing until she moaned and clutched at his head. The heated, musky scent of her arousal drenched his senses, sending an answering hot surge to his burgeoning erection. With the swelling peak between his lips, he pinched her other nipple lightly, and she bucked hard. He cupped her mound to keep her still, and his finger glided into her slippery folds. She clenched around him with another moan, and the exquisite response delighted the beast: she was so strong yet tender.
The flush across her wide cheeks was a fire barely contained, and the blistering need in her dark eyes when she tightened her grip on his hair told him tender she might be, but the strength of her desire ruled her now.
She dragged him up her body, every point of friction a spark that triggered an inferno in his blood. And when she reached between them to wrap her fingers around his swollen flesh, the inferno went supernova.
With a twist of her hips, she thrust herself onto his hard shaft, and her sweet little cry was a spear of fire through his heart, one on which he would gladly impale himself again and again. As he sank into her core, he leaned down to kiss her, slanting his mouth across hers as if he must claim every part of her at once.
As if, if he didn’t, he would lose her.
***
He’d saved her from the ice. He’d saved her from her own freezing fears.
But none of that mattered to Amy in the delicious power of this moment.
She touched him everywhere, reveling in the thick muscle and delicate rasp of scales. He pulsed inside her, driving out every thought except that she wanted him, needed this more than anything in her life that had almost ended.
Starting to shake, not from any lingering cold or fear, but the rising tide of irresistible release, she clamped her legs behind him, guiding him into a pounding rhythm that jolted the breath from both of them in rasping pants. Sweat slicked their skin, washing away the last memories of ice.
“I’m going to come,” she whispered. “Oh, Luc, don’t stop. Don’t ever…”
Pleas failed her as the orgasm crashed over her, squeezing a keening breath from her lips. His mouth sealed over hers, capturing the sound and feeding it back to her as he surged into her with a hot rush and a rough cry of his own.
He’d been holding back, waiting for her, and the realization sent another burst of pleasure coursing through her. He groaned at the hidden ripple inside, and the pulse of his cock answered as he fell across her.
For several minutes—longer than they’d been in the air over the whirlpool—they clung together, their breaths easing. He tugged the blanket she’d brought him earlier over their still-joined hips and let out a gusty sigh.
“I had to stop,” he said in a confessional tone, “or I was going to die.”
“I was just being greedy anyway.” Stroking her hands down his back, she snugged his hips into hers.
He nuzzled her neck. “The drakling approves.”
Not that she’d forgotten—how could she?—but somehow the reminder that he was an alien shapeshifter sobered her. She rested her palm on his shoulder blade. “Where are the wings now? Where do you keep all the extra…you when you’re this you?”
He tilted his head back to look at her, one eyebrow cocked. “Do you want me to start with the first book of drakling religious texts or the scientific explanation for the quantum folding of mass-energy?”
“Er, okay, no.” She forced another short laugh. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? You can fly now.”
And she knew she was being greedier than any treasure-seeking drakling when she wished she could’ve kept him for herself. A handsome, sexy drakling who returned with the Firestorm Queen’s Prism to a twelve-fold wedding would be lucky to make it to the bouquet-toss without getting snapped up by some hometown hussy who hadn’t seen how special he was before…
Amy shook off the spurt of anger. He’d joined the race to prove himself, and now he would. She was glad for him.
As for what would happen to her… She knew he wouldn’t let her down.
But what if she was just now figuring out that she didn’t want him to let her go?
Chapter 20
On the night of the winter solstice, Primaera’s main city was awash in lights. The spires of buildings glowed, and ships drifted like snowflakes through the sky. Whether it was because of some local festival or the end of the Great Space Race—Octiron was based in Primaera—Amy didn’t know or care. She could only focus on one thing.
This was the end of the adventure.
Luc touched her shoulder, breaking the spell. “Do you have everything you need?”
She’d come through the portal with nothing, not even her clothes. Now she was dressed in her explorer costume and she had a dat-pad on her wrist. She’d borrowed some of the gel-like substance Luc used to fashion the coils in his hair, and she’d teased her own finer strands straight up, so when she nodded, the aggressive spikes sliced through the air. “Ready.”
She was only partly lying.
They zinged along the pathway to the city, in a stream of other vehicles. Most of the other windows were blacked out, but the approaching spires were impressive enough: a reminder that she was far away from anyplace she might’ve ever called home. She startled when Luc laced his fingers through hers.
“Octiron cares only about ratings and profit,” he said. “It means nothing to them that Rickster lied to me and essentially abducted you. They won’t even care about a historical gemstone that matters only to draklings. But if we can appeal to their constant need for new drama—in front of their holo-vids—we’ll have a chance to get the resources we need to get out of here.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She looked down at their nine entwined fingers.
He grimaced. “At least as much of a plan as quoting poetry at the universe until it coughed up gemstones.”
At his self-deprecation, she thumped his hand lightly on her thigh in admonishment. “That was a great plan. We have the Firestorm Queen’s Prism.” She sidelonged a glance at him. “Uh, we do have it, don’t we?”
With a snort, he patted the satchel at his side. He was wearing the outfit she’d first seen him in, and the vest showcased his strong arms and shoulders. The rest of his black fatigues and the blaster hanging at his hip were just background for the faint scars from the aquari crystals still glimmering on his dark skin, like mysterious runes written in starshine telling tales of his boldness. He’d looked so big and imposing from the moment she’d found herself dumped on the Blissed’s deck, but did he have new muscles now? Or maybe it was just the way he held himself: a man who’d found his wings.
They’d both been changed, him into a new shape, and she…she was different too. From now on, she was going to reach for what she wanted. And if it blew up in her face again… Well, she’d survived before.
The ground transo beeped softly. “Due to traffic congestion and inclement weather, your programmed destination is unavailable. Would you like to choose another destination?”
Wasn’t that just what she’d been asking herself?
Luc said, “Just drop us off here.”
“Complying. Unused credits have been returned to your account.”
The transo halted at the end of a wide boulevard, and she and Luc disembarked. Ahead of them, a line of ground cars aimed at a towering skyscraper that vaguely reminded her of old Art Deco design with its sleek lines and geometric forms, like something from Hollywood’s Golden Era. Strange ethereal lights zapped around the spires adding a surreal glow to the scene.
Suddenly she wished she had a red carpet gown instead of her tunic and wraps. But she crushed the familiar sick twist in her stomach of knowing she wouldn’t fit in. She as a closed-world Earther—of course she wouldn’t fit in. Probably most of the beings streaming past them toward the gala had never even seen an Earther.
“Quite different from your first time on Primaera.”
She grimaced. “You mean because I’m not screaming?”
“It’s impressive.”
She watched the throng of beings more imaginative than any cosplay. Large holographic images of the teams flashed across the front of the building. Team Starry Night was a tall, handsome male with reddish blonde hair and a decidedly unfriendly look beside a pretty cat-woman with golden-brown eyes and feline grace. Team Corona was a spiky-chestnut-haired guy who looked basically human and a woman with crimson skin like a devil. Team Supernova, Team Galaxy Riders, Team Orion Nebula… She wondered about their adventures. They must have completed their puzzles and missions, facing down the dangers to make it this far… But had the other teams grown as close as she and Luc? Was the greater danger what came next?
“It’s crazy.” But then she glanced up at him and realized his gaze was fixed on her. A flush of heat tightened the skin of her cheeks. She felt more crazy than impressive, but maybe that was okay for an infamous interstellar explorer. “Let’s do this.”
They joined the throng aiming toward the main doors of the skyscraper. Laser lights in all the colors of the prism shined over the entrance. “Congratulations, Great Space Racers,” it read in letters her universal translator supplied in both English and hànzì.
“It should say ‘nice work not dying’,” she muttered.
Luc’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Yeah, this version doesn’t quite capture the nuance, does it?” He gestured at the doors. “Looks like everyone has an ident scan to enter. This could get tricky.”
“Trickier than a collapsing tunnel or space raiders?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we get in front of the cameras.”
At a strange warbling squeal from ahead of them, the entrance queue paused and then begin to roll backward, the gathered beings murmuring in consternation.
“What is it? Amy rolled to the toes of her boots but wasn’t tall enough to see over the crowd.
Luc took her arm and guided her to one side. “Someone tried to get through without an ident scan and just got hit with a tangler.”
From their new position outside the line, she had a clear view to the orange-suited guards dragging a limp form out of the queue. A small aerial drone circled the fracas, warning the crowd to stay calm. She swallowed hard. “I guess that answers the question about getting through security.”
They ducked toward a side street, little more than an alley, really.
Amy peered around the corner at the glamorous gala. “So close,” she murmured.
So close to really being what she wanted to be.
Luc consulted the dat-pad strapped to his forearm. “Maybe we can make our way to the service entrance—”
“No need.” A burbling voice—as if the speaker was gargling and speaking at the same time—brought them both whipping around. “You can just give me the prism now.”
Amy recoiled. She hadn’t realized from the image on the Blissed’s screen how enormous Rickster was. The sentient starfish was easily ten feet tall with smaller writhing tentacles that topped another foot above that. The thin ooze that coated his pebbly skin glinted in the reflected Octiron lights.
Flanking the assistant producer were two orange-suited guards. Their hunched, long-armed posture and bright pink faces reminded her a little of the macaques in the temple near Ye-ye’s house—which might’ve been cute except she’d had a mooncake stolen from her when she was little and she’d never forgotten. And she thought these monkeys were probably going to take something much more valuable this time.
Luc smiled, although she knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders—shoulders still scarred from the dangers Rickster hadn’t bothered to warn them about. “Shouldn’t we do this in front of recorders? So the whole universe can see.”
From behind the guards, Idrin sauntered forth. “Don’t play dumb,” he advised. His white eyes were covered with goggles. “No one’s going to see this. You destroyed the passage token so we know you know.” He tilted his head. “If you hadn’t, you could’ve gotten into the gala no problem.”
Luc dropped the act. “So you could steal the prism from us there?”
; Rickster blew some bubbles from the beaky mouth at the center of his body, though Amy wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or something else. “I had a nice little pretend gala all set up for just the two of you. Sure, there was a knockout drug in the moon-brandy but it was good moon-brandy. Middle shelf! If you’d just played your part.” The tentacles flapped spastically.
“It’s a drakling heirloom,” Amy said. “You can’t take it.”
“You didn’t even believe it was real,” Rickster snapped back. “Just keep believing that.”
Luc took a half step forward, putting himself between her and the others. “The gemstones are rare, but they don’t mean anything to you. And the Flamewalker Clan will pay double the galactic value for the gems in return for the prism’s return.” He raised his chin. “You know I have the finances.”
Amy sidelonged a glance at him. She’d known he was a successful accountant, but apparently he was from a wealthy family too? Apparently money and personal success wasn’t enough to make him feel worthy in front of that family without the spectacle of the Great Space Race to back him up.
But Rickster just waved his tentacles some more. “Ten times the galactic value doesn’t mean anything.” Spatters of froth flicked from the tips of the tentacles. “You touched it, didn’t you? You felt it.”
Wrinkling her nose at the thought of the assistant producer’s slime all over the Firestorm Queen’s glowing jewels, Amy said, “It’s just some sparkly rocks.”
Rickster snorted, blowing bubbles. “Then you aren’t the teammates Idrin said you were.” He rubbed two tentacles tips together, working up a slick. “The prism only sings for true love. And with it, I’m going to produce the greatest show in Octiron history. The only thing viewers want more than thrills and danger…is love.” He flung all his tentacles wide. “I call it…Into the Arms-Arms-Arms of Love!”
When no one responded to his pronouncement, Rickster rippled one tentacle in a shrug and flapped at the guards. “We’ll fix it in rewrites,” he said. “Take the prism. And the Earther too. I’m told she’s famous, so she’ll be a good first contestant.”