Page 13

I should have stepped back. Created distance.

Reasserted control. But I remained rooted, a statue carved from conflict, as she unfastened the crude ties of her pants and pushed them down her legs, revealing more pale skin marred by scrapes and the darkening shadows of bruises.

She wore some thin, practical undergarment beneath, a flimsy barrier that barely concealed the juncture of her thighs.

She began washing her legs, her movements quick, efficient, almost dismissive.

But I watched, unable to tear my gaze away, as rivulets of dirty water trickled down her thighs, following the graceful, lean curves of her calves.

She was built for speed, for endurance, tightly coiled muscle beneath deceptively soft skin.

A predator in her own right, trapped in a fragile form.

When she finally straightened, the damp cloth falling from her hand to the floor, her eyes locked with mine across the scant feet separating us.

Something shifted in the air. It thickened, heavy now with her purified scent, clean skin overlaying that unique, intoxicating fire-spice that had tormented my senses for weeks.

It wasn't merely a smell; it clung to the back of my throat, a tangible taste on my hypersensitive tongue. Madness. Sheer, fucking madness.

“All clean.” She made no move to cover herself, standing before me, defiant and vulnerable in the thin, damp undergarment clinging to her skin, her gaze unwavering.

We stood frozen, inches separating us, bound by an invisible, crackling current. Her pulse beat a frantic tattoo, visible at the base of her throat. Mine pounded against my own ribs, a brutal war drum signaling the imminent, catastrophic loss of control.

Duty. Survival. Her.

“Vega,” I began, the name a rough scrape in my suddenly dry throat, unsure what I intended, an order, a plea, a warning against the inevitable.

She moved. A single, decisive step, closing the final, precarious distance. Or perhaps I surged forward, pulled by forces beyond my command. The distinction vanished as her mouth crashed against mine.

Hells below.

The impact jolted through my entire system, obliterating conscious thought, shattering control. Her lips were impossibly soft, yielding, despite the fierce demand in the kiss.

Instinct, ancient and overwhelming, slammed through me. My arms banded around her. My claws flexed, the tips pressing against her back, requiring conscious, agonizing restraint not to dig deeper, not to break her fragile form.

Careful. Do not shatter this.

My tongue, already hyper-aware, was scalded raw, ignited by the intimate contact. It swept into her mouth without permission, a desperate, hungry exploration, mapping every inch of her. This wasn’t gentle; it was primal claim, a near-violent, visceral need to consume, to devour.

A low growl tore itself from my chest, deep and uncontrolled.

My fangs ached, a deep, burning throb radiating into my jaw, the ancient imperative screaming within me.

The urge to bite down, to sink my teeth into the smooth, vulnerable skin of her neck, to mark her, was a physical, clawing demand inside my skull.

Mine. The word echoed, potent and terrifying.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, fingers digging in surprisingly hard, finding purchase on the thicker scales there, anchoring me, anchoring herself in the storm.

She made a sound, a sharp intake of breath swallowed by the kiss, quickly followed by a low, guttural moan dragged from deep in her throat that resonated through my bones, vibrated against my fucking teeth.

My tail, acting on pure, unthinking instinct, coiled around her bare leg until she shivered. The sensitive tip brushed the inside of her thigh, nudging higher, questing, driven by a will of its own.

It found the damp heat gathering at the juncture of her legs, the air thickening further.

She gasped into my mouth, and her hips instinctively, undeniably, bucked against the pressure. Hells. She fucking ground against my tail, chasing the friction, speaking a silent, desperate language my body understood perfectly even as my mind recoiled in shock and burning need.

It took Forge blessed strength not to move that tiny barrier of cloth and bury my tail inside of her.

“Zarvash,” she breathed against my mouth as I shifted, needing a different angle, needing more , needing to ease the agonizing pressure building within me. Her voice was ragged, thick with the same desperate, clawing need that was ripping through the last vestiges of my control.

I tore my mouth from hers, trailing kisses down her sharp jawline, licking greedily at the frantic, vulnerable pulse hammering in her throat. Her scent was overwhelming there—clean skin, female sweat, fear, defiance, and the sharp, intoxicating tang of pure arousal.

It filled my head, drowning rational thought, drowning everything but the roaring need. My fangs pulsed again, throbbing with the primal urge.

Need to bite. Need to taste. Need to mark.

Her hands were suddenly impatient, urgent, fumbling, then yanking brutally at the fastenings of my tunic.

The sound of tough leather ties giving way was obscenely loud in the charged quiet.

Her cool fingers brushed against my bare scales, sending shockwaves of agonizing pleasure through me.

She explored the hard planes of my chest, the sensitive junction where wings met back, her touch both hesitant and demanding.

“We shouldn't,” I rasped, the words a blatant lie my body refused to heed, my voice strained, unrecognizable.

My cock strained against the unforgiving confines of my trousers, thick, heavy, painfully hard, pressing insistently against the soft curve of her belly through the thin barrier of her undergarment.

“Probably not,” she agreed, her voice husky, breathless, before her mouth captured mine again, fiercer this time, obliterating the half-hearted, utterly futile protest.

Her hands slid lower, bolder now, mapping the ridges of my abdomen. Then one hand slipped beneath the waistband of my trousers, calloused fingertips brushing the hypersensitive skin just above my hipbone.

A violent shudder ripped through my entire frame. Control shattered.

Driven by pure instinct, I walked her backward, stumbling, needing unbroken contact, needing to feel every inch of her against me, until the backs of her legs hit the rock of the sleeping platform.

We crashed onto it, a tangle of limbs, desperation, and raw, unleashed need, my weight pinning her beneath me. She arched instantly, hips lifting off the stone, offering herself; a silent, eloquent invitation that scorched through my veins like dragon fire.

Yes. Now.

Her hands were suddenly everywhere, mapping the contours of my back, tracing the lines of old battle scars, fingers tangling in the short, coarse spines at the nape of my neck.

When her questing fingers brushed the damaged joint at the base of my injured wing, a sharp hiss of pain escaped me despite myself.

She froze instantly. “Sorry,” she whispered, pulling back slightly, her eyes wide with concern even now. “I forgot?—”

“It does not matter,” I cut her off, capturing her mouth again, harder this time, needing to drown the flare of pain, the reminder of weakness, needing to drown everything but her , the taste of her, the feel of her beneath me.

She met my kiss with equal, desperate fervor. One slender leg wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me closer still, grinding her heat against the agonizing hardness straining against my trousers.

The friction, even through the layers of cloth, was torture, pushing me closer to the edge. She rocked against me deliberately now, meeting my involuntary thrusting need, stoking the inferno within.

Want to bury myself deep inside her. Feel her clench around me. Feel her heat surround me. Now. Need it now.

Her hand slid down my stomach again, bolder, fingers tracing the thick, rigid length of my erection through the fabric.

My hips bucked involuntarily at the direct contact.

Need surged, heady and blinding, obliterating everything else.

I shifted, trying frantically to align us better, ready to tear away the frustrating barriers between us, ready to finally, finally?—

BLLAAAAARRRR!

A horn blared from outside, the harsh summons of the Ignarath arena authority slicing through the thick haze of lust like a shard of ice plunged into my heart. The signal. For the damned, cursed feast.

We froze. Locked together, tangled limbs, heaving chests, breath sawing raggedly in the sudden, ringing silence. Reality crashed back, brutal, cold, and utterly unwelcome.

Her eyes, wide and dark, pupils still blown wide with desire, met mine across the scant inches separating us.

The flush staining her skin, her swollen, kiss-bruised lips, the near-naked vulnerability of her body sprawled beneath me, it sent another wave of frustrated need crashing through me, nearly sending me over the edge again despite the intrusion.

My own body pulsed with thwarted urgency, the battle to regain even a semblance of composure, a visible tremor in my claws, still pressed against her skin.

“We have to—” I was so reluctant I couldn't finish the sentence, the words scraping my throat raw, tasting like ashes and defeat.

She nodded slowly, the spell violently broken, but the tension remained; thick enough to taste, humming between us like a strained wire.

With a hesitance that felt like tearing living flesh, I pushed myself up, away from her heat, her intoxicating scent, her impossible softness. The loss of contact was immediate, an ache opening up a cold void where her warmth had been pressed so intimately against me only moments before.

She sat up, pushing tangled, sweat-dampened hair from her flushed face. The sight of her, thoroughly kissed, disheveled, lips still bearing the imprint of my mouth, her body a canvas of bruises and raw need, tested my shattered control to its absolute breaking limit.

Turning away sharply before I did something irreparable, something that would doom us both, I forced myself toward the pile of discarded clothing near the door.

“Prepare yourself,” I commanded, my voice harsher than intended, strained and rough, brittle with the effort of containing the inferno still raging uncontrolled within me. “The feast will not wait.”