Kings of the Fire Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  His eyes automatically went to Marta, but she was not where the witch had left her.

  That made things easier. It was a lot less difficult to suffer through hell or purgatory or whatever this was so long as he didn’t have to look at her anguish for all eternity. He’d done the right thing, and he knew it, even if she never forgave him for as long as she lived.

  As long as that was a very long time, he didn’t care.

  “You did well,” came a voice from behind him.

  Arryn turned—easily, now. He was no longer under anyone else’s control.

  Before him was Glinda—and Marta. Although it was Glinda who’d spoken, he couldn’t help himself. He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Marta, tugging her close. She clung to him just as desperately, her fists grabbing handfuls of his shirt, her lips pressing against every inch of bare skin that they could reach.

  God, her lips. Without thinking, he reached for her chin and tilted it up, meeting her lips with his own. She opened to him instantly, a soft groan in the back of her throat as he licked into her mouth and drew her closer still.

  He’d thought he lost her—and yet here she was, safe and sound and in his arms.

  Glinda politely cleared her throat. He ignored her, so she did it again, much less politely.

  With a sigh, Arryn pulled back. He took a moment just to soak in the moment. He leaned his forehead against Marta’s and breathed in her presence. This was real. He could feel her soft flesh beneath his hands, could taste her on his lips.

  “If you two are finished, then,” said Glinda. She tapped her foot until they moved a few inches apart. “Good.”

  Glinda looked the same as she had before—short, with out of control gray hair that seemed to stand straight up from her head. She constantly squinted, as if she suspected everyone in the world was out to do her some wrong and she was going to catch them. He really believed that if that were her mission, she would succeed.

  “Well, then,” she said, squinting back and forth between them. “You’ve found the woman causing all this chaos.”

  “Was she part of the prophecy?” asked Arryn, unable to hold his tongue.

  Glinda gave him a withering stare. “Talking like that, I hardly believe you’ve ever read the prophecy.”

  Anger boiled up inside of him, but Marta’s small, cool hand on his arm helped him to check it. “It killed my parents,” he said, his voice tight.

  “No, it didn’t,” Glinda said, shaking her head. “You never did understand that. A prophecy can’t kill anyone. It doesn’t have a body or a mind or intent. A prophecy is … words on a page, and that’s all. Nothing more or less. What was written about your family predicted what would happen to them, but it was their deeds in the past and the feelings of that time that made it come true.”

  The words stung in an unexpected way. It was nothing he hadn’t thought a million times; his parents’ rule was flawed, to say the least. But they were his parents, cruelly ripped away from him when he was only a child. No matter what, things could have been resolved a different way; not all of the royal court, not all the dragons, his brethren, had to die.

  “Who are you?” Marta barely breathed the question. “Where are we?”

  Glinda grinned at Marta. “Now, those are questions worth answering.” She turned and toddled toward the evil witch, still frozen in time, motioning for both of them to follow.

  They stood close to the witch. In battle, she’d seemed—otherworldly, out of time. But now, close up, Arryn could see that she was just a woman.

  “This is Natasha Silverthorne. She is thirty-eight years old. Her much older brother died in a riot—a warlock in the crowd did a nasty piece of magic, and he was caught in the crosshairs. She has taken care of her elderly, sickly parents for many years, and she’s done it alone.”

  Marta frowned. “She also kidnapped me and tried to kill me. My sympathy is limited.”

  “I’m not trying to earn your sympathy, you child. I’m trying to help you understand. Natasha Silverthorne is not your problem—she is a symptom of your problem.”

  It all became clear to Arryn. “The unrest,” he said. “The lack of stability.”

  “Only then will peace return to the magical world.” Glinda quoted the final line of the prophecy.

  “It hasn’t been completed. That’s why everything is still so wrong, even after all this time—we’ve never completed the prophecy!”

  Glinda smiled at him, more softly than he would have thought she was capable of. She went on her tip toes and reached up, tracing his cheek with her fingers. “I remember you as a boy. So wild and free, so happy. It always hurt me, to know that you hid that joy inside of yourself as you grew.”

  Arryn frowned. “You … knew me?”

  “I’ve had many forms over the years. I have watched you your whole life. I was there in the palace the day you were born. Your mother and father loved you very, very much.”

  “But—how?”

  She laughed. “Oh, dear boy. Every court needs a seer.”

  With that, Glinda took a step back, and back and back and back. With each bit of distance she gained, she looked less substantial, less real. She seemed to blend in with background, gently fading away.

  “How will we know what to do?” he called out.

  He wasn’t expecting an answer, but one came anyway.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You already do.”

  Arryn snapped back into consciousness, still upright, still in the same position he had been in before. Natasha Silverthorne was shaking with the force of her power and rage as she uttered the words that would certainly kill him, but he felt no fear, only a surge of power from within.

  He could shift right now—easily, like breathing—and kill her. End this.

  His eyes went to Marta. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion, every second taking a hundred. She was on her feet, holding out her hands, eyes toward the sky. He didn’t know how she was doing it, but he was sure—more than that, he was positive—that she was manipulating time.

  He shifted back to look at Natasha, and he quieted the dragon inside. Part of accepting himself as a whole was knowing when to be a dragon and when to be a man.

  He moved forward, going quicker than the slowed down world, and then he was behind Natasha, bringing her hands behind her back, bracing for any struggle she may have when the world came back into real time.

  “Get her ring!” Marta yelled, and he wrenched the emerald off Natasha’s finger.

  The second he had her secured, everything changed. There was screaming and the shouts of his brothers and Felicity, the sound of Marta joining him, using a binding spell on Natasha’s wrists—without a wand.

  Natasha writhed and spat, yelling loudly. “What did you do? How? Kill me, then, if you’re going to hold me prisoner! I won’t stand for it—kill me!”

  “No,” Arryn said. His calm voice made her go still, even as she breathed raggedly. “You’ve lost too much, and I won’t be the reason you lose your life. You’re going to face a jury of your peers, and they will decide what punishment fits your crime.”

  His brothers were running up, Felicity was on the phone, calling the police—everything was chaos. Yet, for the first time in as long as Arryn could remember, he felt sure that everything was going to be all right.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marta

  MARTA TURNED UP THE VOLUME on the television set. “Arryn, they’re showing more clips of your interview!”

  She could hear his sigh from the kitchen over the clinks and clanks of the pots and pans. “They’ve been showing it on repeat for days. Aren’t they sick of it yet?”

  Even though Arryn couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes at him. He had been complaining about the media coverage for days, which was ridiculous—he had stopped the rise of Natasha Silverthorne, the revenge-fueled witch who was currently waiting to enter a plea against the multiple charges of attempted homicide.

  She’d already confes
sed to everything. No one was expecting her to plead anything but guilty.

  Arryn had agreed to a group interview with his brothers—a single interview, not the four that Blayze had tried to set up for them—because he wanted the truth to be told. Marta also suspected he wanted to use the fee to rebuild the cabin on his land, but she had no real proof of that.

  The interview had been playing again and again ever since it had aired. The Dragomir brothers and their significant others talked about the changes of the past few months—the discovery that the prophecy was linked to their specific destinies, and that all would be well soon. There was a real chance for peace within their magical corner of the world.

  Except that she and Arryn hadn’t had their shiny-bright-white-light moment yet.

  She hadn’t seen any of the others happen, but Felicity, Ramona, and Joy had reminisced about their moments more than once while all the girls were out together. At some point, all of them had been with their guys and it had happened. The world had gone white and beautiful and then gone back to normal.

  It didn’t take rocket science to know it had something to do with the prophecy.

  Marta didn’t want to worry. She didn’t want to put pressure on this new relationship, but—they were both so convinced it was right, so why hadn’t they had their prophesized moment yet? Wouldn’t Glinda have told them all if it wasn’t the way it should be?

  Neither of them mentioned it, but they were both thinking about it. Marta was sure of that. Arryn was careful not to let his emotions get the best of him, but she could still sense a bit of anxiety from him, every now and again when he let his guard down.

  There were footsteps on the floor, and then Arryn was beside her, balancing two bowls of pasta and two glasses of wine. His cabin was still being rebuilt, so he had moved in with Joy and Marta for the moment. Joy had absconded to Vincent’s for the evening, leaving them with some blissful time alone.

  It may have been days, but it felt like a hundred years.

  He set the food down on the coffee table and then collapsed onto the couch next to her, automatically reaching for the remote.

  She held it away from him. “Stop. I want to watch.”

  “Why? You have seen it multiple times. It’s not going to be any different, or get any more interesting.”

  “You look happy in it.”

  Given her rising fears that she was the wrong person for Arryn and was delaying the end of the prophecy and the return of peace to the magical world, she liked to see him when he was happy and talking about the future. It didn’t feel as settled now as it had a few days ago when he’d filmed this segment.

  Arryn elbowed her and took a sip of his wine. “And I don’t look happy right now?”

  He did. Of course he did. He even felt happy. She could feel his contentment radiating from him. But she was still worried.

  It apparently showed on her face. He ditched his wine glass and turned to her, face suddenly serious. Before she could reply, he reached out and rubbed the worry line she could feel forming between her eyebrows.

  “What’s going on, baby?”

  Marta shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to talk about anything other than the fact that she was afraid she might be the wrong person, after all. Everything, the things her mother had told her, her own intuition, insisted that this was right. But then where was their bright moment, their happily ever after?

  “It’s nothing,” she said. Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed him. No white light.

  Dammit.

  On screen, Arryn was talking about Natasha Silverthorne, and how he bore her no ill will, no matter what happened. He hoped that she was judged fairly and received a just punishment, and that she learned from her past.

  Marta hummed thoughtfully. “I am always surprised you said that, every time I watch the interview.”

  Arryn looked at her, brows drawn together quizzically. “Why?”

  “She tried to kill you and your brothers. More than once, at that.” She shrugged. “Most people struggle to turn the other cheek.”

  “Well,” Arryn said, drawing out the word as if he were thinking. “I don’t know. I was angry, when we came out of the dream world with you and Glinda, I thought I had to kill her, but then I realized that—being a dragon doesn’t mean I always have to pick that route. I’m not just a dragon, just like I’m not just a man. I’m both.”

  Marta’s jaw dropped.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, laughing a little. “Stop it, you’re making me feel weird.”

  “You accepted your nature, and by doing that, you conquered it,” she said, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. “That’s not easy, Arryn. In fact, it’s very admirable.”

  “I guess I’m finally ready to just … be who I am. All of it. Besides, I’m not the only one who changed—you were going to leave, and yet here you are, with me.”

  She grinned a little. All of her old fears seemed so little now, in the face of everything she was building with Arryn. Even if they hadn’t had the white light moment. It would come, it had to.

  She took a deep breath and let go of the nagging doubts. There wasn’t any room for them, between him and her.

  “I love you,” she told him, the words coming to her more easily than she ever would have expected. Saying them felt as natural as breathing.

  Arryn’s eyes were hot on hers, boring into her, and she felt his gaze down to her toes. Slowly, his expression softened—no less heated, but with something more there. A smile touched the corner of his mouth.

  “I love you, too.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him again, unable to keep herself away from him a moment longer. All around them, the room went white and shimmery, before fading back to normality.

  Marta smiled against his mouth. Finally.

  This was a cause for celebration.

  Celebrating with Arryn was officially the best thing in the world.

  He lapped at her clit, his hands teasing her nipples as she arched against his glorious mouth. He’d gone down there what felt like an hour—and at least two orgasms—ago, and he made no move to come up for air.

  Her entire body felt loose and relaxed, even as his tongues did wicked things against her pussy, stirring some faint curl of desire at the base of her spine. It felt so good, and she thought she might come again, if he kept this up.

  And as delightful as that sounded, she wanted more than that right now. She wanted to give him something, please him.

  Marta tugged at Arryn’s hair, pulling him up her body. He stopped to kiss the curve of her stomach, the dip of her side, her breasts, her collarbone, her neck. He worshipped every part of her as he moved, his strong arms bracketing her sides. Her toes curled, and she briefly considered shoving him back down to finish what he started.

  But this was about more than just her.

  As soon as his mouth was on hers, she groaned. She could taste her own juices on his tongue, and it was so erotic that she wriggled against him, her body seeking friction.

  He was so good at distracting her.

  She braced her hands against his shoulders and pushed until he relinquished her mouth.

  “Get on your back,” she commanded.

  Arryn shook his head. He moved so that he was sitting up, and grabbed her ankles, hefting them over his shoulders. “I have a few ideas of my own,” he told her.

  She could feel his cock, so hot and hard and heavy, bumping against her upper thigh. Marta shut her eyes at the electric shiver that went up her spine, imagining everything that very cock had done to her in the past, knowing how good it was.

  “But I want to…” she tried, fighting for the words. It was hard to think when he was doing this to her. “You know…”

  He turned his head and kissed her ankle. “You want to what?”

  Oh God, he was going to make her say it, wasn’t he?

  She glared up at him as best she could—which wasn’t very convincing
, considering how blissed-out she was currently feeling. “You are going to make me say it?”

  He smirked. With his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, he looked so sexy, and so—hers. Forever.

  Forever.

  “Well, if you don’t mind waiting, I guess we have time,” she said, and reached down and grabbed his cock in her hand, guiding it to her pussy. They moaned in tandem as she traced the head along her lips.

  Arryn leaned forward, bringing her knees, still over his shoulders, close to her chest and then, ever so slowly, thrust into her.

  “Oh fuck,” she swore. She wasn’t sure if it was in Ukrainian or English. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the feel of him inside of her, going so slow, splitting her open inch by inch until he was so deep that all rational thoughts just stopped.

  He stayed at that sweet spot for a moment, holding her hips so that she couldn’t thrust or move or encourage him to do either of those things. It was the sweetest form of torture. The anticipation built up inside of her—would he ever move, was he goes to leave her on this knife’s edge for all eternity, how would she survive if he didn’t—

  Arryn pulled out quickly and then thrust back in, fast and hard. She felt it reverberate throughout her entire body, every single inch of her lit up like a firecracker. God, it was good—it was better than good, it was perfect.

  “That’s right, baby,” he said, keeping up the same quick pace. Marta let her eyes fall closed—she didn’t want to miss a moment of him, of the faces he made, of his gaze, intent on her, but it was impossible to keep them open. She wasn’t in control anymore; she was entirely his, and he would bring her this pleasure, and she would feel it, and that was all that she could do.

  His thumb circled her clit in time with his thrusts, and Marta heard a weird, piercing shriek—it took a moment for her to realize that that sound came from her throat. If she hadn’t already come twice, she was fairly certain she’d have already fallen apart.