Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(38)

“The blow to your enchantress pride would be reward enough.”

That is it! Now it was imperative to wipe that smirk off his face. “I’ll take your bet.” She thought she spied a flash of surprise in his expression. “No sex, though.”

He glowered, as if she’d suggested something ludicrous. “I’ll breed no bastards! Already my offspring will be half Sorceri. Do you think I’d allow the first to be illegitimate on top of that?”

Asshole! Only Thronos could ruin this: her, in a temple full of gold with a physically attractive male. He was like the anti-Sorceri—created to repel her.

Forget enchanting him! He didn’t deserve her beguilement. “I’ll remember this.”

“What?”

“That you kill joy wherever you find it.” She gave him her back as she unfastened the first of three clips on the side of her breastplate.

Had his breaths quickened?

She gazed over her shoulder, saw his claws digging into the gold shelf, his throat working. His voice dropped an octave when he commanded, “Off with it.”

She unfastened the second clip.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his words dripping with pent-up lust.

As she was undoing the last clip, she heard something from beyond the main cave, and paused. The sound came again, growing in volume—movement down the mountainside. Something big was approaching. “Thronos, what was that?”

“Heard nothing. Continue.”

“Come on, demon!” She began fastening the clips again.

“There’s nothing to fear out there!”

When the entire temple rocked, she snapped, “Oh, really?”

He made a coarse sound of frustration; then she heard the swoop of his wings. She whirled around to find him charging toward her, that determined look on his grave face.

His eyes appeared to have darkened, and she could swear his horns were straightening—just like a demon’s would when he became aroused.

In other words, Thronos doesn’t live here anymore.

Reaching for her, he bit out, “To tide me over.”

Till when?!

A roar sounded in the cave. Seeming to wake out of a daze, Thronos dropped his hands. And she could have sworn upstanding Dudley Do-Right grated, “Fuck.”





EIGHTEEN


Thronos lunged for her, shoving her behind the stone door that led to the main cave. He pulled her close, then wrapped a protective wing around her.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“I smell a creature, but scarcely trust my senses. I thought they were going extinct across all worlds.”

He couldn’t be talking about a dragon? When she heard some great beast breathing at the outer cave entrance, she shuddered. Two bright lights blazed inside like a car’s high beams.

Thronos craned his head around the door to catch a glimpse. His heart pounded at whatever he’d seen.

She delved into his thoughts . . . then sucked in a breath.

A dragon had its head in the cave opening, its brilliant yellow eyes glowing. Heated air blurred around its nose. Its scales were onyx and silver, glinting like metal.

She switched to telepathy. —This place, the benches . . . —

As if reciting something, he muttered, “Sacrifice the pure, worship the mighty, behold a temple unequaled.”

So this place was dedicated to virgin sacrifice for mighty dragons? She wasn’t surprised. Many demon cultures worshipped dragons. Rydstrom had the image of one tattooed on his side.

In Rothkalina’s Grave Realm, the badlands of the kingdom, basilisks roamed wild. Lanthe had gone to visit them with Sabine a few times. Her sister had the power to communicate with animals, and had gotten to know one or two well.

But Lanthe wasn’t Sabine. And this dragon looked hungry for a sacrifice.

If she weren’t petrified, she might have laughed. Lanthe was no cherry-holder of yore; the dragon would probably spit her out like a pit.

The headlights shining into the cave shuttered off and on. Oh, gods, the dragon had blinked. Then the entire mountain rocked and claws skittered into the cave. Had the beast shoved its lethal paw inside?

The dragon sounded like it was blindly patting around the cave, reaching all the way to this door. It must have locked in on them!

Pat . . . pat . . . pat . . . pat.

Oh, yeah, the dragon knew they were in here, and it wanted its treat.

Thronos whispered, “Easy, Melanthe. Stay quiet.”

Quiet? Did he think she’d cry out in hysterics? Galling!

—Quiet, yourself! I have some experience with such situations. For instance, in that haystack, I never made a sound, even when pitchfork tines stabbed me.— She held up her hand, showing him the two puncture scars on the back. Granted, you had to really look for them, and she usually wore gauntlets. . . .

He clasped her hand in his, turning it this way and that. She sensed his anger and confusion, but he made no comment.

When the dragon snorted with impatience, Thronos drew her hand to his side and wrapped his wing tighter. She frowned down at it.

Metallic onyx and silver scales. Just like this dragon had. In Rothkalina, the basilisks’ scales were red-toned.

Curiosity made her brave, and she darted a glance around the door, before Thronos dragged her back. This dragon differed from its cousins in Rothkalina in one other way.