Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(50)

She was jolted by a sense of longing that swept over her. She lost her smile and looked away. “We don’t even know what we’re talking about, anyway,” she said.

He loosened his grip on her hair, shifted his weight onto one elbow and took her luminescent hand. He tilted her arm and looked at it. “You’re remarkable. No, don’t!” he said, as she remembered and began to dampen the glow. “Let me see you as you really are, for a while at least. Look at how fast you’re healing.”

She looked. The ugly black bruises that had mottled her skin had almost faded. “I feel good,” she confessed. “Different, somehow. Better. More. Hey, am I the Bionic Woman?”

He smiled. “It sometimes happens with halflings when they come to an Other land,” he told her. “The heightened magic can help them access abilities and traits that might otherwise have remained latent.”

She tried to keep a tight grip on the hope that surged at his words but questions still leaked into her thoughts. Was this the explanation for everything she felt since they had crossed over? If what he said was true about her, might she be able to shift? What if she could end this sense of living a half life, the feeling of being caught between two incomplete identities, human and Wyr?

“I had no idea,” she said. “My mother always refused to bring me over to an Other place. I’ve never had enough Power to cross over by myself. I barely have enough for telepathy.”

In the dream, her mother had said it was dangerous for her to be here. She glanced around the dim coal-lit clearing. That meant they should leave soon. The thought lacked urgency.

“Ah yes, your mother,” he replied, sounding distracted as he inspected her slender fingers, the graceful tilt of her wrist. “Very soon we’re going to have a talk about your mother, who she was and why that dumbass Elf loved her so much. We’re also going to talk about why you’re not right in the head and if you have any more IDs or stashes of cash hidden anywhere.”

She snatched her hand back and smacked him on the arm. “None of that is any of your business! And just because he liked me but he didn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s a dumbass Elf!”

He gave her a lazy, predatory smile as he moved his torso over hers. “You’re not afraid of me at all anymore, are you?”

She sobered. Call her crazy, but she thought he would rather cut off his hands than hurt her. “So what if I’m not?” she muttered.

His beautiful, cruel mouth pulled into a smile. “I think if you’re not, it’s a very good thing,” he said. He moved, and before she realized what he intended, he had her hands pinned over her head. “It gives me all kinds of license to do bad things to you. With you. On you. In you.”

She jumped and her heart hammered. He looked at her splayed and helpless underneath him and insinuated one heavy thigh between hers. He pushed up with his leg as he bit her neck in the exact same place where he had in their dream. He drank in her gasp and held her with ease as she tried to tug her hands free. Not that she tried all that hard.

Excitement took the express shuttle through her body. She stretched for the sheer enjoyment of feeling herself slide against his naked torso, and his brilliant gaze tracked every movement she made. She was feeling less human by the minute.

She licked her lips. “Dragos, I don’t think . . .”

“You don’t think what?” His burning gaze swallowed her up.

“I don’t think I’m as good as I thought I was,” she whispered. Her eyelids dropped down and she smiled.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

He pushed her legs wider apart, settled between them and began a sensual assault on her, nibbling and licking. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth and suckled at the plump flesh, then thrust his tongue deep into her mouth.

They both groaned. He dug deeper into her, thrusting harder and harder. She tilted her head to open more to him. He shifted her wrists to one hand so that he could push the other under her tunic, running calloused fingers up to the soft swell of her breast. He grasped the plush mound with greedy care, found her nipple and began rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged at the sensitive flesh and gave it a light pinch.

Pleasure jolted through her as he played with her breast. Her breathing became choppy. She tugged harder, but he refused to let go of her wrists, his body hardening. She raised her legs to cradle his long body, shifting underneath him until his heavy, long erection lay nestled against her pelvis.

He hissed, face darkened with lust, and he reared up to grab hold of her tunic.

“No!” she cried, stiffening.

He froze. God love him, that dragon didn’t even breathe.

“I don’t have anything else to wear,” she explained. She gave him a shaky smile when his eyes flashed to hers.

The stricken look left his face. He let go of her wrists and sat back on his heels as she sat and yanked the tunic over her head. She tossed it to the ground. He put his hands to her rib cage and ran them up to cup her br**sts.

“Goddamn,” he said. His normal deep voice had gone hoarse. “Will you look at that.”

She looked down at them. The lines and curvature of her torso and br**sts looked ultrafeminine against the brawn of his big hands and muscular arms. Her radiance and the dusky hue of his skin seemed to feed on each other. The paleness of her skin was creamier, the blush of her ni**les pinker. The sinews of his hands and wrists shifted under skin that was a richer, deeper bronze.