Page 49

It's too late. My body can't help itself.Itdoes what it wants, despite the valiant efforts of the mind. Anditis now hard asstone and aching for release. My cock wants to be buried deep inside him. My cock wants to feel his fingers tighten around its length and play across its most sensitive ridges. My cock wants to teach him the pleasures of being with an alpha—and another man.

I feel a sudden swell of phoenix power inside of me. It's slight, but undeniable.

What is this? How?

Surely my power could not be recovering simply by my arousal. It would require mutual desire?—

No. That's ridiculous.

I study Jackson's profile in the dim light, searching for any sign that might confirm such an absurd notion, but it's too difficult to know. He finishes tying his clothes to the rope and lowers the gourd back into the well. The end of the line reaches his hands, but the only sound we hear is the hollow, echoing knock of the gourd against the stone.

"No way," he says, leaning over to look. "How shallow did it get? Alright, then." He holds out his hand to me. "Airos, give me your robe."

"What?"

"Give me your tunic. It might be enough to reach. Hurry. The sun is already about to come up."

The damn beast with a mind of its own continues to throb against the fabric of my clothing. Beneath my Gnosis robes, all I have on is a thin loincloth that will do absolutely nothing to hide the shape of my erection.

Think, Airos.

"I'm naked beneath it," I say, like a complete moron.

Jackson gives me a look. "Oh-kay... What the hell are we going to do then, Airos?"

"We dance," I say.

"Here?"

"Perhaps an elemental still resides here. We can try to reach it."

"Or you could just give me your cloak..."

"I didn't realize you were so keen to take my clothes off," I say, reaching for the clasp. "But if you insist so strongly, then I have no choice..."

"We dance," he says quickly.

The fading starlight casts long shadows across the sand around the well, and I can feel the weight of exhaustion in every muscle. I have to expel my doubts—and I have a lot of them.

"Start slow," I say, settling into the first position Niah had shown us.

Jackson mirrors my stance, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands positioned at his sides. We look into each other's eyes. I nod my head, counting the time. And then we begin. Step, pivot, arm sweep—each motion deliberate and careful. The sand shifts beneath our feet as we move, and I'm acutely aware of Jackson beside me, matching my rhythm.

"One, two, three..." he counts under his breath, his voice barely audible over the whisper of wind across the dunes.

It's clunky at first. Both of us are focused on our own feet, our own timing, but the movements return easier than I expected, and it isn't long before I'm hardly thinking about them at all. Step, pivot, arms raised, step again, reverse, cross over.

Faster.

I can feel the dull thud of our feet through the sand, and I can feel our pace increasing. The decision seems to materialize out of nowhere for both of us. We're still linked in unison and in step.

Then something shifts. A subtle pull, like the tide drawing me forward. The hair on my arms stands up, and there's a charge in the air that makes my skin tingle.

"Do you feel that?" I breathe, not breaking rhythm.

"Oh, I feel that," Jackson replies, his voice tight with concentration.

The movements become more fluid, and soon I have the distinct impression that we're on a stage and dancing for a spectator. Thereissomething watching us. I spin and catch Jackson's eye as we pivot in opposite directions, and for a moment it's like seeing my reflection. We're perfectly synchronized, moving as one.