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Through his soft pants, he hardened even more if that was possible. The thin fabric between them did almost nothing. Layala moved her hips faster. He grabbed hold of the bend between her thighs and hips and rocked her harder against him. “I don’t need to be inside to make you come, love.”

Just him saying that brought her to the edge of bliss. Her moans grew louder but she bit down on her lip to quiet herself. Presco and his wife were in the other room. He lifted one hand and a shimmering bubble formed around them. “Be as loud as you want. No one but me will hear now.”

Layala wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled herself against him. Their lips hadn’t met once, and she briefly wondered if that was on purpose, but the pleasure kept building and building, distracting her from that, and she buried her face into his neck. He smelled so good, felt so good.

“Val,” Hel growled. “I can feel you getting wet through the pants.” He panted like he was even more turned on than she was. “Take as long as you want. Enjoy it.”

“Hel.” She squeezed him harder. “I want you to feel as much as I do.” She reached to tug down her pants, but he gripped her hands, and intertwined their fingers. Then pushed her onto her back where he hovered above her, pinning her to the bed.

“Don’t tempt me with that unless you mean it. If you think I’ll let you go back to him after I’ve been inside you, you’re fucking wrong.” One hand slid to her throat and his gentle touch was almost enough to make her lose it. “Once you give yourself to me, you’re fucking mine. There won’t be a choice.”

Layala closed her eyes and waited for a breath… two… her heart thundered like galloping horses, her body was on the verge of combustion, but she shook her head. Everything he said brought her out of her almost animalistic desire to have him and cleared her blind lust.

“I thought so,” he said but slid his hand underneath her pants, between her thighs, and she saw stars.

* * *

The next evening,Presco stood in front of the stairs in the apartment with his arms crossed. “I’m coming with you.”

Layala tugged up on the white glove at her elbow. With the assistance of Presco’s wife, her hair was styled in an elegant half up half down with loops, braids, and waterfall curls down her back. “Presco,” Layala started with a sigh. “It’s best if we aren’t seen together anymore.”

“Then Ayva and I will go separately but I will be there to assist if you need it.”

“Fine.”

Hel’s footsteps lightly padded on the wood floor. His arm slipped around Layala’s and then he leaned closer to Presco. “Stay out of my way tonight.” He fixed the popped front lapel of Presco’s suit and patted his chest.

Presco was a full six inches taller than Hel and broader in every way but at that moment Hel was more intimidating. A moment of silence passed and Presco gave a curt nod. “Of course, Hel.”

On their walk down the city block, they were both quiet. Hel had been gone most of the day. She didn’t know what he’d been up to. He wasn’t in the bed when she woke up that morning.

He slipped his hand into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Last night doesn’t need to mean anything.”

“Alright,” Layala murmured. But it did to her. She didn’t do sexual acts with males who didn’tmeansomething to her.

“It was a momentary lapse in judgment on my part. I shouldn’t have let it get to that point. We shouldn’t have shared a bed. We won’t tonight.”

“We didn’t have sex, so like you said, it doesn’t mean anything.” Her heart felt like it was crumbling with each word.

He kept his eyes forward, deliberately not looking at her. “No, it doesn’t.”

* * *

After showingthe gold coin that was given to her by Caliban Drakonan, Layala and Hel were escorted up to the top balcony level of the opera hall in the Drakonans’ mansion on Pearl Avenue. “Mr. and Mrs. Black,” the bellman said with a dip and quickly left.

The group of six males and five females stopped chatting and scrutinized the intruding couple. Layala felt like slipping away but Hel whispered in her mind,Raise that chin, love. One day they will kneel to you.

She thought of the entire dragon court in Adalon dropping to their knees and smiled. It was the only reminder she needed. Caliban Drakonan grinned and gestured toward them with a lazy hand. He wore a black suit, and his golden hair was combed back and tied at the nape of his neck. He almost looked like a different person than the one Layala met at the wild party the night before. “Grandfather, this is the elven couple I spoke to you about.”

The dragon with salt-and-pepper hair, aged but still strong looking, dragged his eyes over Hel. He had distinct eyes; one was brown the other a bright green. “So, it is. I am Rugar Drakonan, and this is my home. Welcome.”

“And a lovely home it is,” Hel said, and reached out his hand. “The name is Zar, and this is my wife Layala.”

The Drakonan Opera House boasted three levels with golden sculptures attached to each balcony personifying harmony, poetry, and music. The stage below was closed off by a velvet navy curtain.

Rugar shook Hel’s hand. “And what a lovely wife.” He inhaled deeply. “You’re mages and descended from the Runevale gods. I smell it in your blood. It’s been a long time since I sensed that.” Unable to decipher his rough tone, Layala worried he was going to have them thrown out, then he smiled. “My grandson is a good judge of character.”

Hel smiled and slid the back of his hand across Layala’s cheek. “I think your grandson was dazzled by a pair of pretty blue eyes.”