by Bella Jacobs
“And we’re going to have it, baby,” I swear to her. “They’re going to have to tear it out of my cold dead hands.”
“I love you,” Wren says, tears filling her eyes.
“I love you, too,” I say, heart beating in my throat.
“And I don’t want snacks.”
“Me, either. Fuck snacks. I want you. Naked and under me,” I say, crushing my lips to hers as I add between kisses, “Let’s get these damned clothes off.”
“Yes, please,” Wren agrees.
And so, we do. She tears at my T-shirt, and I rip hers over her head. We unbuckle and unzip, stealing kisses as we back toward the blanket by the water. And then she’s naked and so am I and I’m finally where I’ve been dying to be.
Well…almost.
“Inside me,” Wren begs after only a few minutes, long before I’ve explored as much of her as I would like.
“Not yet,” I grit through clenched teeth, even though there’s no place I would rather be.
But I don’t want to rush our first time. I need to take her somewhere she’s never been before, to show her that when it comes to her pleasure, I’m a man of my word.
I reach down, gathering some of her delicious wetness on my fingers and guiding it back to the tight hole behind her pussy. Immediately, she tenses, confirming that her other mates are as vanilla as I’ve assumed.
“You’re going to like it.” My tongue flicks over her nipple before I add, “I promise.”
“And if I d-don’t?” She arches beneath me, her breath catching as I nip her other nipple before sucking it into my mouth.
“Then I’ll stop.” I circle her rear entrance with my fingers, teasing her with the barest bit of pressure. “But I don’t think that’s going to be our problem.”
Her breath coming fast, she asks. “What’s going to be our problem?”
“How much you’re going to love it,” I whisper in her ear, cock jerking as she shudders beneath me. “And how soon you’re going to be begging for two of us inside of you at the same time. I know you’ve been dreaming about it, Slim, Dust in your pussy while I take you here.” I glide one finger inside her ass as my thumb dips into her pussy, and she catches fire, the way I knew she would.
She moans, clinging tight to my shoulders as she rocks into my hand. “Oh my God, Cree. Oh my God…”
“Yes, beautiful,” I groan into her neck as I find the rhythm she likes and fresh heat rushes from her pussy to coat my hand. “I can’t wait to see you come again. Come for me, baby. Come so fucking hard for me.”
She shakes her head and bites down on her bottom lip, clearly fighting the release on the verge of sweeping her away. “I want you inside me. Please, Cree. Let me love you. Let me feel it.”
I’m sure there are men out there who can resist a request like that, but I’m not one of them. Keeping my finger in her ass, I replace my thumb with my cock, easing into her inch by inch, staring deep into her eyes as two become one and I sign my heart over to her.
Right on the dotted line. Without a second’s hesitation.
The mate bond flows between us, through us, binding us together tighter than needle and thread as I make love to her, taking her higher, until she comes hard. Her muscles clench tight around my cock and fingers, and I have no choice but to fall. Apart. To pieces. My balls clutch and release until I am wrecked by the beauty of being this close to my mate. My woman. My reason, the one that once seemed so elusive and is now so incredibly clear.
“You’re all I want,” I say as we’re soaking in the hot pool after, stealing kisses in between bites of fresh strawberries I picked this morning, and generally feeling delighted to be alive. “This is it, Slim. I want you and that house in the orchard and that crazy pack of kids. That’s the dream for me.”
“Me, too,” she says, kissing my cheek. “But let’s not tell the others yet, okay? I don’t want them to be sad if…”
If we don’t all make it. If some of the kids we saw in our vision don’t end up being born because their daddy is killed before we can take out Atlas.
I’m about to assure her that I won’t tell anyone but that I’m for damned sure keeping every one of those faces in my heart, when Wren winces and her hands fly to clutch her chest.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Kite,” she says, fighting for a breath. “He’s in trouble. Under attack. They all are. He’s found us, Cree.” Her eyes go wide and fill with terror. “Highborn. He’s here.”
Chapter 31
Wren
In seconds, I’m a griffin, claws and feathers rippling across my skin so fast it burns.
But will it be fast enough?
Or am I already too late?
I turn in the now cramped space to find Creedence furry and leaping up the rock formation beside me in his kin form. Without any telepathy, I know where he’s headed and lower my right wing, clearing the way for him to jump onto my back. He lands, the faint sting of his claws on my thick hide assuring me he’s holding on for the ride, and I launch myself like a bat out of hell at the circle of sky above us.
The hole is too small, but I don’t hesitate. I fly harder, faster, reaching top speed just as my head shoots through into the cooler air. My shoulders force their way out next, the momentum and mass too much for the rocks surrounding the moss-covered opening.
Creedence and I soar out into the late afternoon sky, sending boulders rolling down the rock face in our wake.
The moment we’re clear, I scream out a warning, a high-pitched half eagle cry, half lion’s roar that I know will carry, and pump hard toward camp. Below me, colors no mortal eyes will ever see swirl and pulse beneath the canopy. In my griffin shape, I can see body heat. I mark every spark and flash of life, from the rabbits and squirrels fleeing the shouts and gunfire coming from our glen, to the men closing in on the cabin.
No, not men….
They’re moving too fast.
I fly low, belly nearly brushing the treetops, but a part of me knows what I’m going to see even before I catch my first glimpse of fur. It’s them—the Gen Mods, the monsters. And they’ve already got us surrounded.
Heart surging into my throat, I cry out again, relief rushing through me as a matching cry echoes from beneath the trees by the homestead. It’s Dust, in griffin form, holding his own against the monsters swarming around him, battling with claws, beak, and the deadly whip of his tail. Kite is on his right, in bear form, wrestling with a Gen Mod who’s already bleeding from a wound at his throat. And not far away, crouched behind a rock formation, Luke is armed and dangerous, firing at the line of armored Hummers parked at the top of the ridge beside the flaming remains of our camper.
No…he’s not firing at the vehicles. He’s shooting the men in SWAT gear streaming down the hillside with their own much larger, much more serious guns drawn. We are seriously outmatched.
As Sierra bursts from the cabin with our fireplace axe in hand, seconds before a missile hits the already rickety structure, sending it exploding into flame, I put together the pieces and conclude we’re never going to make it out of here alive.
We’re outnumbered and out-armored. We need more firepower, but my Wren-size column of flame won’t even come close to cutting it. I might be able to save myself that way, but it won’t do shit for the people I love.
I need something bigger.
Something that doesn’t just channel fire, but wields it.
As if my father is suddenly there with me, a voice whispers through my mind, reminding me that I come from a long line of dragons. A line of fire-breathing dragons, the kind the ice dragons ran out of Europe hundreds of years ago because they were afraid of how much damage we could cause if we ever decided to break the treaty we’d signed, vowing never to use our flames on other shifters.
But those men with guns aren’t shifters, and the creatures attacking us aren’t, either. They’re robots, machines controlled by the man standing up there on the hill, far from the line of
fire. The man in the suit, who set all this misery in motion.
Dr. Highborn. He did this. And I will make damned sure he pays for it.
I land in the only space near the cabin large enough to accommodate a form even larger than a griffin, and I dip a wing. The moment Cree bounds off my back, leaping at the closest Gen Mod with his claws bared, I reach down into the heart of me, down to the place where memories of my father and the secrets of the dragons who raised him are hidden away, and I curl my fingers around that buried treasure, drawing it fast toward the surface of my skin.
Just like the griffin, this form comes easily, a gift from someone who loves me, sending me the knowledge I need, even though he’s far away, reminding me that none of us are ever truly alone.
Dragon scales ripple across my even larger, more powerful body, cooling my skin even as a molten heat coils in my core. I’m nearly there, griffin claws transforming to razor-sharp dragon talons, when I hear a shot and see feathers and fur fly into the air. A beat later, Dust falls to the ground in his human form, and horror—cold and shocking—dumps into my blood.
Luke fires, and two of Highborn’s soldiers—the ones closest to his location, the ones who must have shot Dust—jerk and crumple, tumbling to the ground to lie still.
Instantly, Kite is between Dust and danger, battling another Gen Mod as Luke hurries to Dust’s side. Gratitude explodes in my heart as I realize that Dust is moving, talking to Luke.
He’s still alive, and I intend to keep him that way.
Connecting to the heat in my belly, I drop my jaw and rain fire on these people who have dared to threaten what’s mine.
Chapter 32
Luke
Sweating in the heat of the fires breaking out all around us, I shove my gun into the back of my jeans and haul a protesting Dust into a fireman’s carry. With one last glance over my shoulder, ensuring Kite has my back and the Gen Mod situation under control—for now—I take off through the pockets of flame, bound for where Wren is blasting the freaks swarming around her.
But there are too many of them, and our enemies have her hemmed in, pinned between the advancing force and the bluffs behind her. Even with fire on our side, we’re no match for their numbers, or their firepower. I’m almost out of ammo, and there’s no way I’m getting back into the cabin to reload.
The cabin is toast. So is the camper. And if we don’t get out of here, we’ll be dead before sundown.
Dust probably sooner. He needs medical attention, ten fucking minutes ago.
“Leave me,” he moans again, more hot blood rushing onto my shirt as he tries to give me the suit coat he snatched from the ground as I lifted him. “Take this and get her out of here.”
“Not a chance, man,” I growl, cutting right to avoid a Gen Mod on fire, its fur going slick and pink as it—he—comes back into his human form screaming in agony.
Several of our attackers are on human legs now, reeling in pain and confusion, but Wren doesn’t let up. She keeps laying down rows of fire, lighting up the underbrush between her and the armored hummers idling by what’s left of our camper.
She’s a pacifist, but she’s no fool.
And she wants all of us out of here alive, a fact she’s proven by digging in and fighting her ass off when it would have been far easier—and probably smarter—to take to the sky with Kite and Creedence and leave the rest of us here to save our own asses.
Or to die.
Like Dust is always saying—we’re replaceable; she’s not.
But she clearly doesn’t see things that way. That’s why she’s still here, waiting for Sierra to fight her way through the swarm of monsters between the cabin and Wren’s position. The axe in the one-armed shifter’s hand flashes like sunlight on water as she cuts a blood-soaked path to Wren and then holds the line near her left flank, keeping the way clear as I race through the gathering smoke with a bleeding man across my back.
Fifty feet away, I skid in the mud and nearly go down—the forest floor is still slick, though the rain has finally stopped—but I find my feet and push hard for the finish line, trying not to think too much about the fact that Wren’s the only one left with functional wings. Dust’s too injured to shift, let alone fly himself or anyone else off the mountain. There’s a chance Wren will be able to carry us all. Her dragon is even larger than her griffin, with broad, scaled wings and a neck so long it would extend above the treetops if she lifted her chin to the sky.
But her shoulders aren’t that wide—Creedence is already up there in lynx form, taking up a decent chunk of real estate—and between the five of us, she’s looking at close to a thousand extra pounds.
Someone might have to stay.
You, my inner voice decrees with a finality that leaves no room for argument. The other three men are Wren’s mates—they give her strength and the kin gifts she’ll need to survive—and Sierra is the only one who can open the path to Atlas.
I am the only expendable guest at this party.
I don’t want to die, but the thought of being left behind doesn’t tear a hole in my gut the way I expect it to. Somewhere between that day in the basement and the moment the first gunshots rang out this afternoon, I drank the Kool-Aid. Maybe it was all the time spent training her, or maybe it was the hours looking into her eyes and seeing nothing but heart and a driving need to set things right. Maybe it’s something closer to home, closer to the muscle that jerks hard in my chest every time I catch sight of her after time apart, but I’m Team Princess now.
Team Wren.
And I want my team to win, even if I’m not around to see it.
I reach her back leg, where her dead-serious claws are digging into the damp ground for traction as the force of her own flame threatens to send her skidding backward, and I shift my grip on Dust. Curling one hand under his armpit and the other around his hip, I overhead press him with a groan. He’s lean but tall, at least one-seventy, and a hell of a lot more unwieldy than a barbell. And he’s bleeding, hot liquid oozing over my right hand, making my grip way too slippery.
I call out for help, but Creedence is already there, grabbing Dust around the ribs with one furred arm, dragging the other man up and over the curve of Wren’s rear haunches.
As soon as they’re up, I turn, shouting to Sierra, who has just dispatched a saber tooth Gen Mod, and Kite, who’s shifted back into his human form and is running—buck naked—toward me, “Load up! You’ve got to get out of here. She can’t hold them off much longer.”
Tossing her axe to the ground, Sierra shouts, “Leg up!” Without missing a beat, I squat low, forming a basket with my hands. Sierra’s small, booted foot lands in it a beat later. I shove hard up and over, sending her sailing onto Wren’s back, where she scrambles up and out of sight.
I have no idea how much room is left up there, but Kite is going next. After that…
After that, we’ll see.
I squat back down, threading my fingers together again, but Kite just claps me on the chest on his way by, and calls, “Follow me. She’ll help us out.”
And as if by magic, she does. A second before Kite reaches her foot, she extends her back leg, making a ramp for the two of us. Kite run-scrambles up, and I follow, wondering if I’m ever going to get used to catching an eyeful of another man’s balls during a fight.
One part of my brain observes that Kite has some seriously large, weirdly hairless gonads, while another part celebrates the amount of space still left on Wren’s back, and a third warns that something’s changed, something’s coming, and we’re not close to out of the woods yet.
“Helicopters!” I shout as the whump-whump sound fires the appropriate synapses.
“Go, Wren,” Sierra shouts. “Now! They’ve got artillery on those fuckers. We’ve got to get out of range.”
“Everyone hold on.” Kite grabs handfuls of the surprisingly silky-looking mane that forms a comb down Wren’s neck to tuft around her shoulders like a golden mink stole. Sierra and I follow suit, and Creedence,
still in lynx form, wraps a furry arm around Dust, holding him close as he grabs a mouthful of mane. “We’re out of here,” Kite warns. “She’s going in three, two, one!”
I’m braced for lift-off—or I think I am—but I’m not anticipating anything like this. Wren shoots into the sky like a missile headed for the moon, leaving my stomach dragging against my spine as it fights to keep up with the rest of my body’s momentum. The G-force pulls at my face, and my shoulder sockets hum in protest, but my fingers stay locked tight in Wren’s baby-fuzz soft hair.
Fingers know when to shut up and do their job. And their job right now is holding the fuck on so I don’t go careening into a free fall while my woman is trying to keep the pack of us from getting shot.
My woman…
But she’s never going to be my anything. I don’t belong here. I have nothing to give her. I’m a fraud, and as soon as we’re out of harm’s way, I have to tell her the truth.
Fuck getting over the border. Fuck my fresh start.
Wren is what matters, and the best thing I can do for her is get real and get out, before I put her in more danger than I have already.
Chapter 33
Dust
I can feel her trying to wrap a cloaking spell around us, but it isn’t working.
The magic flickers and sparks but refuses to take hold.
The dragon form is too new to her, and she’s too exhausted.
I can feel it, through the bond where Wren and I are connected. When I swallow, my throat is raw and dry, ravaged by fire that came too hot, too fast, and for far too long. My muscles are burning, and I can sense her faltering, slowing, as the places where her wings meet her body scream for relief.
There’s too much extra weight, and she’s moving too fast.
But she can’t ease off. The choppers are locked on our tail, just barely out of firing range. If she slows down, they’re going to get close enough to take her down. And when she falls, we’ll all fall with her.