The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(67)

“Thank you.” She hoped he interpreted her gratitude on the multiple levels it was intended.

“You are quite welcome.” He seemed to. “Rest up. Tomorrow, I will take you to the organ harvesting rooms.”





30. Arianna


The smell of woodsmoke was etched upon her skin with his tongue and teeth. He drew long, delightfully painful lines with his canines. He followed with his mouth, his tongue, his tender kisses and delicate ministrations upon them while they healed.

Again and again, he repeated. They were a room on fire, cedar on smoke. Pain and pleasure made comfortable bedmates, etching his caress upon the steel of her memory with an endless amount of determination.

She wanted him. They had crossed every line and traversed every seemingly impenetrable barrier to arrive with him between her legs. But she yearned for every moment. She yearned for his firm grip on her hipbone, his mouth on her shoulder, his attentions bordering on the meticulous.

There was a broken-ness to their passion, a ritual sacrifice of everything they were for something they could be. Let them dive into the acidic fatalism that would forever be splashed upon their memories. They were going to dissolve into each other until there was nothing left.

She arched off the bed, his hand smoothing across her ribs and onto her back, holding her in place, his mouth upon her breast. She had forgotten the feeling of being vulnerable. Control had fought against its tether, cutting into her palms, and now she let the beast go free.

Arianna’s claws trailed up his arms and shoulders, into his blood-orange hair. She watched how it splayed across her chest when she held him upon her.

“You have magic here,” he mumbled into her bare stomach. His breaths ran ragged laps around her navel.

“I do.” She was already stripped bare before him. There was little else to hide now.

“Where else?” He propped himself over her.

Arianna had seen his bare chest dozens of times; the Dragons weren’t exactly fond of clothing. But it looked different now. Hovering just far enough for her nipples to brush his skin, it seemed to take on a different shade, a more appealing curve.

“You know the other places.” Arianna slid her palms to the chest she had just been admiring. “Though, I wouldn’t mind lungs…”

“You wouldn’t.” He pressed his mouth upon her.

Arianna sucked his tongue between her teeth, biting hard. Blood poured into her throat and she sucked hungrily, magic exploding once more. She was well and truly drunk off the man—the taste, the feeling. It was better every time and worse each passing second after it faded. She wondered what it would be like to give into every desire and lie here with him until the end of days.

Arianna smiled faintly into his mouth. What an idealistic notion. The things the man had done to her…

A growl rose from the back of his throat, which she also eagerly consumed. Arianna flipped them on the small cot, mounting him like one of their flying birds. His erection pressed against her and she, shamelessly, ground herself upon it.

“You witch,” he groaned when she finally returned his lips to him.

“Wraith, actually.” Arianna pressed forward, kissing up along his ear to the point. “And don’t doubt me. There is very little I wouldn’t do—especially to you.”

He pressed his thumbs into her thighs, holding her in place, pushing her down. Arianna met his demands willingly. It was a war for dominance that was punctuated by winning and losing battles of submission. They took turns allowing the other to be the victor and alternated the joys and struggles of relinquishing control.

She felt the waver in his magic, the fear taking over again. He was thinking too much. The man who seemed to care for nothing but beauty and ease was giving in to the dangers of contemplating all they were and what they were doing. She appreciated the irony of wanting to tell him to let go, to let them have the moment they’d encased themselves in.

Arianna kissed him lightly, absorbing the emotion. She forfeited words for action. She slid onto him and felt that stretching, pressing, pushing, filling sensation once more.

It was for the best. He should be afraid of her—of them. The idea of him and her becoming a “they” would be the worst thing that could happen to either of them. She would consume him. She would use him for her own delight. But if it ever suited her, she would break him. She would cast him from the pinnacles of pleasure upon the cold and lonely world below.

It made her afraid of herself.

Arianna had never let herself go so far. Even with Eva, an understanding and logic had pulsed between them. They had begun as partners, scientific equals, and evolved into something more. Arianna had yearned for the woman. She had embraced the throes of passion with her now-dead love.

She had admired the woman’s tenacity and determination. Similar things attracted her to Cvareh, but they stemmed from different sources. There was no logic to Cvareh. Man, woman—Dragon or Fenthri—he was not someone she should find herself with. Arianna snarled, driving her hips harder, faster, as if she could force out the conflict. She hated him. She wanted him. Shades of gray, rainbows of color—they blurred and smeared into gold.

Cvareh pulled her down and she acquiesced. She let him have her mouth, her tit, her shoulder. She heaved her moans into the pillows like curses, or prayers.

Nothing made sense, and she would have him until it did.