Xavier's Desire (Dragons Of Sin City Book 3)

by Meg Ripley

  "Yes?" Arach said to the young man standing just outside the doorway.

  "They are coming."

  Arach nodded and the man ran away. He lifted her off his lap and placed her on the bed beside him, immediately starting to button his shirt again.

  "Who's coming?" Aurora asked.

  Arach didn't answer, but stood and started toward the door. Aurora chased after him, following him out of the room and into a cold stone hallway.

  "Aurora, go back in there," he demanded, not stopping, but glancing briefly over at her.

  "Who's coming?" Aurora repeated.

  She had to run to keep up with his long strides and the stone floor felt rough beneath her feet.

  "Go back."

  Aurora reached out and grabbed onto Arach, yanking him to a stop and shoving him back against the wall to the hallway. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, but she looked up at him without intimidation.

  "I have had enough of men telling me what to do in the last few months. Today has truly been the wedding day from hell. At least, I think it is still today. I honestly have completely lost track. I'm still standing here in my fucking wedding dress after finding out that the man I very nearly married murdered my father. So, stop telling me to go back and instead try telling me what the hell is going on."

  Arach looked startled and took her carefully by the shoulders to guide her a few steps back from him.

  "My clan took your father's murder as an act of war. That is why I connected with you when I did. I needed to bring you to me before the fighting began."

  "You connected with me on purpose?"

  "Of course. When a dragon has a human mate, he has the ability to connect with her in her dreams so he can spend time with her without being near other humans."

  "So, those dreams were real?"

  "They were both dreams and real."

  Aurora decided it was futile to try to understand any further.

  "Who's coming, Arach?"

  "The rogues did not take my removing you from your wedding well. They have made it known that they take it as a sign of aggression and are coming to take you back."

  Arach started walking again and Aurora chased him.

  "Greyson?"

  "Yes."

  "How did he explain you to the guests?"

  Arach led her through a massive wooden door into a room filled with weapons. He reached up and pulled a heavy-looking sword from the wall.

  "People only see what they think they should. By tomorrow it will have all been explained away and only those who already knew about us will have any idea that they saw dragons."

  Suddenly Aurora heard screams from outside. Arach muttered an obscenity and pushed past her through another door. Without a second thought, Aurora wrapped her hand around a crossbow and followed him.

  ****

  Outside, a brilliant sunset was dying behind the horizon, sending tendrils of deep purple across the sky. Aurora looked around and saw dragons at every side. She heard another scream and took off running in the direction of the sound. As she ran, the terrain became more familiar. Soon she found herself in the forest where she had walked in her first dream.

  She ran until she came to the edge of the woods and saw a group of men slashing with knives at a dragon far smaller than Arach. The dragon made another of the screaming sounds and sent a weak stream of fire toward the men. Aurora didn't understand why the other dragons hadn't come. She started running again and as she approached the group she saw Arach rise out of the water and knock several of the men to the ground with his claw.

  To his side a man pulled a long sword from a sheath at his hip and raised it above his head. She immediately recognized him.

  "Greyson!" she called, stopping a few yards away.

  Greyson turned sharply and before he could say anything, Aurora lifted the crossbow and let the arrow fly. The sharp metal tip burrowed through his throat, tattering the skin as he collapsed to the ground. Everything went silent around her. The other men fell to the ground one by one, torn and burned. Within seconds, the battle was over. She dropped the crossbow to her feet and walked toward Greyson's body.

  Blood poured from the wound in his throat and he stared with blank eyes up at the sky. Sickness rolled through her as she looked at him, not because of the blood or even because he had died at her hand, but because of the trust he had so horrifically betrayed.

  No longer in dragon form, Arach walked toward her and gathered her in his arms. She hugged him back, burying her face in his chest.

  "Are you real?" she asked into his shirt.

  Arach pushed her back gently.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Was I really made for you?"

  "Yes," Arach repeated.

  "Prove it to me."

  Before she knew what was happening, Arach had shifted and she was on his back, riding him over the trees back toward the house. The dragons that had swarmed the area when she first emerged were gone. She would later learn about their rules of battle and why they had stayed behind while Arach and the other dragon fought. For now, all she cared about was him.

  Arach landed just outside the massive stone house and waited until she slid from his back to shift back into human form. He took her hand and led her along another stone hallway back to the bedroom. She noticed that the walls of the hallway featured swathes of purple velvet, a sign of royalty.

  When they reached the bedroom, Arach swept Aurora into his arms so he cradled her against his chest as he walked toward the bed. He set her on her feet at the edge of the bed and she felt his hands come to the back of her gown. The corseting strings released and he peeled the dress away from her body, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. She wore only white satin panties beneath and he lowered himself to his knees in front of her so that he could draw the damp cloth down her thighs and guide them off her feet.

  Taking her hips in his hands, Arach dipped his head forward and used his tongue to mimic the skilled movements of his hand the first time she had seen him in human form. The tip focused intensely on the swollen pearl of flesh at her peak and Aurora tossed her head back to let out a cry of pleasure. Stopping just short of her completion, Arach climbed back to his feet and undressed, tossing his clothes aside. Aurora drank in the beauty of his naked body in front of her. She reached for his erection and wrapped her hand eagerly around it.

  Arach drew in a sharp breath and Aurora took the sound as encouragement to continue. Still stroking him, she knelt in front of him and let her tongue slip past her lips so that the tip of his penis stroked across it with each long glide of her hand. He let her continue this way for a few strokes, then took her by her shoulders and brought her to her feet.

  Aurora complied willingly with his hands as he led her onto the bed and turned her body so her head rested on the pillows. He climbed up toward her and she could see the dragon in the power of his movements. Bringing his lips to hers, Arach stretched his body over hers so they touched from their chests to their toes. Aurora put everything into her kiss, letting him coax her further and further into her overpowering desire for him.

  She drew her thighs apart beneath his, causing him to settle between them and the tip of his erection to touch her opening. The sensation made her gasp and she looked into his eyes, holding his gaze as he pushed slowly forward, sinking deeply into her until his hipbones rested against her and her body felt full and fulfilled. She pulled the leather strap from his hair, releasing the silken strands so they fell around his face and onto his shoulder blades.

  Aurora buried her fingers in his hair and brought his mouth back down to hers. She flicked the tip of her tongue against the inside of his bottom lip, encouraging him. His hips rolled against her and she whimpered, relaxing against the feeling to let her hips open further to him. Each long, deep stroke massaged her and she used her hands on his lower back to guide him into a faster rhythm. As he thrust into her she could hear growls of pleasure in his throat.

  Sweat beaded on his skin an
d Aurora lifted her head to lick the drops off his shoulder before bringing her mouth close to his ear.

  "Let go," she whispered.

  Arach released the sounds from his throat and started moving at a faster pace, each stroke hard enough to elicit a cry. Aurora felt herself spiraling out of control and just as her body contracted around him, Arach gave a final, intense thrust and groaned loudly. She could feel him pulsing within her, spilling hot stream into her body as her tremors milked him.

  Aurora kissed along his shoulder as he dropped down onto her and tucked his head in the curve of her neck. War was coming. She knew it. All that mattered to her in that moment, though, was his heartbeat against hers and knowing that when sleep overtook her, she would remain in his arms, just where she was made to be.

  THE END

  The Vampire’s Prized Possession

  A Story By Eva Pierce

  I opened the shop and went about my normal routine of assisting customers, moving items and assessing the condition of questionable antiques. My day was ritualistic, predictable, and slow—until he walked in.

  He almost reminded me of the man I had seen in my dream: tall, muscular, and exuding a dark intensity that I found irresistible. I felt like my heart stopped the moment I sensed him walk through the front door. He gave off such an intense energy that I could literally feel him from across the room.

  When he looked at me for the first time, my heart stopped for just a moment. The room felt a lot smaller as his eyes caught mine, and suddenly, I had the feeling that he was looking at me the way a hawk would survey its prey.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but found it difficult to think clearly enough to form proper sentences. My mind kept racing with the realization that I had seen him before.

  It was then that I realized...he was the man from my dream...

  "You don't want to buy this one," she said, placing the small clock back on the table. "Bad history."

  The man before her sputtered, "Wh-what do you mean, bad history?" He pointed vehemently at the small antique. "This clock has been in my family for several generations! If I wanted my fortune read, I’d go to one of those circus crooks, not the local antique shop."

  "Sorry sir, my granddaughter has spoken." Miriam's grandfather put his arm around her protectively. "Her judgment has always served me well, and I’m not about to begin doubting her now."

  "Bad history," the man mumbled. He snatched up the little clock and angrily shoved it into his backpack, turning hotly on his heels as he walked out the door of the small antique shop.

  "So?" Her grandfather looked at her expectantly. "What's the verdict?"

  "I'd say call the police on this one. I think it might be stolen," Miriam explained.

  "I don't know how you do it," he said, scratching his head, "but I sure am glad for that gift you have." He smiled proudly at her, then proceeded to hobble to over his back office to make the anonymous report.

  Miriam had the uncanny ability of sensing where an object came from, whether it was store bought, or had a history that went back hundreds of years. Miriam didn't know how she knew, she just did. Although she couldn’t tell what the previous owners’ specific identities were, she could sense the type of individuals who owned these objects before they made their way into her grandfather's antique shop.

  Perhaps she wasn't gifted, as her grandfather put it, but just had a sense for appraising antiques.

  Either way, her grandfather was the only one who had noticed her unusual ability, which was why he'd enlisted her to work in his shop over the summer. It worked out, as Miriam needed the cash to pay for her studies in the fall.

  She liked the casual pace of working with antiques. The store was quiet, which created the perfect atmosphere for reading up on the historical topics she’d be studying in the upcoming fall semester. She hoped to one day work at a museum, and working here was her first step towards that goal.

  The bell above the door jingled and Miriam looked up from her book.

  "May I help you?" she called out when she realized she wasn't able to see the customer. The front door was obscured by a bookshelf filled with baubles. She moved out from behind the desk, wondering if the disgruntled man had returned. She heard someone breathing, but no reply. She sensed something was very, very off. "Excuse me?" she called out again.

  The door jingled again, signaling that the stranger had left. She paused for only the briefest moment before she decided to pursue the mystery customer, fearing that he might have stolen something.

  As she swung the door open, she toppled over a small cardboard box that had been left on the front steps. Miriam let out a few frustrating expletives and realized that the strange customer was nowhere in sight. She quickly picked herself up and dusted off her jeans, kicking the box for good measure; just then, she noticed the fresh scrapes on her hands beginning to sting.

  It would appear that the mystery customer had left something behind. She was curious to know why someone had found it necessary to leave behind a box full of—well, she wasn't quite sure what it was yet. She decided, against her better judgment, to carry it inside for further inspection.

  As she brought it in, she called for her grandfather to come take a look. The older man shuffled his way out to the front counter, took stock of her bedraggled appearance and raised a curious eyebrow.

  "Don't ask…"

  "I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckled. "What's in the box?" he asked as his attention turned to the package in Miriam's arms.

  "I don't know, but want to take a look?" Her eyes gleamed with the excitement of a mystery.

  Miriam pulled back the cardboard flaps in order to take a peek inside.

  "Yeah, it looks like it's just junk."

  "Are you sure?" her grandfather prodded. He reached in and pulled out a copper medallion. "Here," he said, extending the shiny object towards her, "why don’t you hold this and see if you can get a reading on it."

  Miriam took the medallion, but as her fingers touched the ridged sides, she felt nothing. It appeared to be valueless junk. "Nothing," she reiterated.

  Her grandfather shot her a curious look. "Perhaps," he mumbled as he began rummaging through the box.

  "Well, while you explore your new treasures, I'm going to go clean myself up." She held up her scraped hands as proof.

  As she cleaned her wounds, she pondered the possible reasons why someone would leave this box on their doorstep. The cynical part of her figured a neighbor was cleaning house and saw their shop as an opportunity to do the old dump n' dash.

  "Typical," she muttered. She finished up in the bathroom, then returned to the front counter and her book, yet, despite her best efforts to focus her mind on the words in front of her, her eyes kept roaming to the box in the corner.

  She put her book down in frustration. Miriam knew she wouldn't be able to focus until she gave the items a second look; she wanted to make sure she didn't miss anything.

  As she peeked inside the box, it was the copper medallion that drew her attention. She picked it up and played with it in her hand, turning it over and rubbing her thumb over the rough edges. Despite her best attempts to use her gift to gain a reading on the object, she felt nothing. This was odd, as Miriam usually had no problem picking up on an item’s past.

  She picked up a different item: a small tin cup. Her mind began to tingle as her senses came alive; this had been a birthday gift for a young boy.

  She picked up the medallion again: nothing. It was like trying to read a blank slate.

  Miriam pocketed the medallion and returned to her book. She figured the piece was worth holding on to, at least until she could discover the reason why she couldn't read its past.

  ****

  Dominic Kane roared in frustration the moment he realized his medallion was gone and proceeded to tear apart his penthouse apartment in search of it.

  "Gone," he breathed. He felt wild without it; it was the one entity that had the ability to control his bloodlust. The medallion helpe
d Dominic hold onto his last shred of humanity; without it, he would just devolve into a merciless creature of the night.

  He lifted a mahogany side table and threw it across the expansive room. It crashed against the stone fireplace and shattered into several pieces.

  "Bloody hell," he roared again.

  "Is something amiss?" asked Rogan, Dominic's brother, as he entered the room.

  Dominic zeroed in on his younger sibling. "Everything is fine," he seethed through gritted teeth.

  Rogan raised an eyebrow, surveying his brother with the scrutiny of a trained predator.

  Dominic's eyes met his in a challenge, daring him to incite him further and give him a reason to redirect his rage.

  Dominic knew that Rogan was too clever for that. Rogan was tall, with a slim build and sandy blonde hair; the antithesis of his own darker energy. Dominic was tattooed, muscular, and had an intensity about him that intimidated those around him.

  "Why are you here, Rogan?"

  "I came to invite you to Mother's dinner party," he replied. Rogan's chirpier tone just added to their differences, his light ease contrasting with Dominic's broodiness.

  Dominic shot him a suspicious look. "You’ll have to extend my apologies," he replied sardonically.

  He hadn't returned home in a few years and wouldn’t dream of doing so without his medallion; his Anima. When certain vampires are turned, their humanities are tied to objects as a way of reminding them that even immortal creatures have their weaknesses. If they become separated from their respective objects, they begin to swiftly lose control, becoming senseless, bloodthirsty fiends. Dominic did not want that to happen.

  "She will be quite disappointed," Rogan mocked in falsetto.

  "Are we done yet?" Dominic cut him off. He only had a few days—a week tops—before his inevitably grim transformation would begin.

  "Tsk, tsk, Brother," he said as he clicked his tongue. Rogan turned to leave, but tossed one final mocking look over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.