Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(41)

Molten silver ore spilled from the charred mountainside, flashing in the firelight—distracting her.

“Eyes forward, sorceress!”

When they had to vault over a burned-out section of the ledge and she nearly fell short, he snapped, “Come to me.”

Without a word, she turned to hop into his arms, locking her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. When he squeezed her against him, she said, “I’m getting used to jumping you.”

He did a double take as he set off once more. “Are you, then?”

“Easy, tiger. I meant that we keep having to run for our lives.”

“Just watch our back.” As he lunged across another gulley, he said, “I couldn’t have warned you about my father.”

“What?”

“I had no idea of his plans until after he and his men had left. I dove for the abbey, but by the time I got there, he’d already killed your parents.”

The truth of that night. “How’d he find out?”

“My tutor saw me sneaking out and followed me.” Thronos slowed to meet her eyes. “I never betrayed you, Melanthe. I’d been tempted to tell my parents about you—I knew the Hall would move soon—but I would’ve talked to you about it first.”

To his clear surprise, she said, “I believe you.” Then her gaze drifted past him. “They’re cresting! We have to hide.” Thronos’s wings would perfectly match this blackened rock face and the silver ore that drizzled from the stone. “Good thing you blend.”

“I do not blend.”

“Face it, demon, you blend like a native of hell. Luckily for us, the fire-breathing dragon breeds don’t scent so well.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve hung out with a pack of them in Rothkalina. My sister can talk to them. They’re really nice once you get to know them, only attacking trespassers and such. . . .” She trailed off when Thronos froze in place, craning his head up. She followed his gaze.

At least a dozen dragons swarmed the side of the mountain like bats coating a cave ceiling.





TWENTY


We are trespassers.” Thronos crouched down, pressing her back against the mountain. He spread his wings, enclosing them completely, and—damn her—blending.

When Melanthe shook against him, he muttered, “They haven’t seen us. We’re hidden here. Just think of something else.”

For long moments, the sounds of their heartbeats were loud drums in the insulated hush beneath his wings.

“You used to enclose us like this when we were young,” she finally said in a low voice. “I always felt I should whisper, as if we were under a sheet, staying up too late.”

“We told each other secrets.”

“So you do recall our months together?” she asked, looking pleased by this.

Some minutes less than others. He shrugged.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait here?”

“We can stay for as long as we need to.” He’d no sooner said the words than he sensed a section of path disintegrating to his left. The dragons above roared in reaction. Then another section to his right collapsed, leaving him and Melanthe on a precarious island of rock.

“More heights.” She bit her bottom lip until he thought she would split it.

He wanted to talk to her, distracting her mind from their situation. What to say?

She took care of the problem. “If we live through this, I’m going back for the medallion.”

“The hell you are.” Besides, she wouldn’t find it if she returned.

“That wasn’t regular gold. It’s red silisk gold, also known as dragon’s gold, the rarest and most valuable in all the known realms. I must have it, Thronos.”

“Your timing is poor. I can’t believe you’re still thinking about it, considering our current circumstances.” He was one to talk. He’d just glanced down, glimpsing Lanthe’s thighs spread around his waist, her skirt worked up perilously high—and his thoughts had boomeranged back to the temple, to the treasures he’d almost seen. Even in this situation, his shaft hardened for his mate.

As if that weren’t uncomfortable enough, the temperature continued to escalate. Like metal, his wings were still emanating heat from those direct flame hits. The river of lava below didn’t help matters.

While Melanthe’s skin grew flushed, he began to sweat. A drop slipped from his forehead onto her leg, high on her inner thigh. His eyes locked on the drop as it clung to her pale flesh, poised . . . before it slid down like a lazy touch.

He wanted to follow that trail with his tongue—then tug her little panties aside and discover what made her moan. . . .

“Um, Thronos, maybe we should change positions?” When her thighs flexed around his waist, he jerked his gaze up.

There was an unexpected metallic gleam in her blue eyes. Was that interest?

The urge to investigate this, to test boundaries, was overwhelming. Wrong place, wrong time, Talos. “Good idea. Yes.” They shifted limbs, until she was seated with her legs together, perched across his own.

“Interesting that you can read those glyphs,” she remarked casually.

“The language might not be demonic in nature.”

“Uh-huh.” Her way of saying untruth.