Chapter 8
As I slowly awaken from a strange dream, I hear muffled voices speaking around me. Part of my mind wants to pay attention to them. But another part—a more demanding part—wants me to turn over and bury my face deeper into the most comfortable pillow in the world.
I’m distracted from the internal argument by the gentle brush of fingers through my hair. Someone is touching me, and it feels good.
If I could stay in this half-wakeful state forever, I would. But there’s one problem.
My ears itch. When I reach up to rub them, my fingers come away, coated in an oily substance.
“Don’t do that. It’s a healing potion.” The sweet voice coaxes me to open my eyes, meeting an amber set above mine.
“Sorry. I ruptured your eardrums when I screamed.” Esme scowls.
“I mean, I want to throttle you.” Her hands fist in my shirt, and I watch her glare go soft. “But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Yes, well, he’s fine now.”
Glancing to the side, I spot a Black woman with iron-gray hair in braids, washing her hands in my kitchen sink, and I realize we’re in my apartment.
“Easy enough fix. Easy for me, of course. Doesn’t mean it won’t cost you.”
“Madeline is a healing witch. One of two in town,” Esme explains before leaving off staring at me to glance the stranger’s way. “And of course. What payment do you want? Money or favor?”
Madeline packs up her bag, tucking away glass jars full of colorful liquids. “Favor,” the witch declares. “I want you to stitch me a dress for the Halloween Ball. Something that’ll make Georgiana choke on her snobby tongue.”
Even from my lower angle, I can see the curve of Esme’s smile.
“I can do that.”
“And do I get a favor for carrying his heavy ass upstairs?” The familiar voice comes from the couch, and I know who it is without looking.
“Don’t get me started on you, Xavier.”
My pillow shifts with her movement, and I realize I’m not lying on fabric and stuffing. My head is in Esme’s lap.
Now, even more than before, I want to bury my face into the plush surface.
But before I can roll over, her strong hand cradles the back of my skull, and her legs disappear, quickly replaced by an actual pillow. A grumble of protest sneaks out of my throat, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to me anymore.
“You knew this whole time, didn’t you?” The harpy advances on the dragon, face fierce.
“Hmm. Not my kind of drama. I’ll be in touch about the dress.” Madeline heaves her workbag over her shoulder and exits through the front door.
“I wanted to tell you.” Xavier holds up his hands in surrender. “But he swore me to silence before I knew who he was.”
“Are you kidding me?” Esme hisses, all sweetness gone.
“Blood oath.” Xavier points to the healed slash on his wrist, where the skin is pink against his normal dark brown.
“Swore I wouldn’t interfere with his plans as long as he didn’t harm anyone in Folk Haven.
I couldn’t say anything.” He sits up abruptly.
“But now, you know. Figured it out on your own, no thanks to his secretive, brooding ass.” Xavier rises from the couch, looking mighty pleased, even in the face of Esme’s wrath.
“Looks like my work here is done. Send me an invite to the mating.” His eyes flick my way, and he offers a sympathetic grimace.
“Or the funeral. Whichever. See you both around.”
The dragon strolls out of my apartment, leaving me with an angry Esme. My strength slowly returns to my limbs, and I’m able to push myself into a seated position as the harpy paces around the living space, unnervingly silent.
I expect the obvious questions.
How are you here?
Why did you come back?
Why didn’t you say who you were?
Instead, Esme, like always, surprises me.
“Why do you have so many throw pillows?” She snatches two off an armchair I bought at a yard sale.
Glancing around, I realize I do have a lot. Probably twenty in this room, and there’s more on my bed. Every time I went to Bed, Bath, and Bargains, I would toss a few in my cart.
“Missed soft things,” I say, now realizing that’s the reason.
Everything in the colony was hard and sharp and cold.
Throw pillows are the opposite.
“You’re hoarding them.” Esme tosses one my way, and it hits my chest like a lobbed marshmallow. “You’re hoarding throw pillows because you want soft things,” she mutters.
I shrug. Collecting them simply felt natural. Like being around Esme.
She continues to pace, not meeting my eyes, clutching a piece of my hoard to her chest, as if it will comfort her.
“Tell me,” she commands.
So, I do. In slow, halting words, I tell her about leaving against my will, only realizing my father’s intentions once he shoved me into the fighting pit.
How I had to change to survive, but then I just wanted to die.
How a dragon saw my torment and shared her sacred secret with me.
How I trained and meditated and fought every day to get back to myself. Back to her.
“But you didn’t come back to me though. Lee did,” she points out.
“Would’ve left,” I say. “If you were better off. Better without me.”
Esme crouches in front of me, her eyes wild, tears on her cheeks. “I’m going to kiss your fucking face off, you fucking infuriatingly dense dragon.”
My sluggish brain takes a moment to register the words. The deliciously perfect threat.
“Yes.”
Esme flies forward, straddling me, plastering herself to my chest as her fingers dig into my hair. Her lips crash into mine, dragging a groan from deep in my chest when I taste her hot flavor on my tongue. She kisses like a woman starved for my mouth, and I want nothing more than to be her feast.
Until I can’t fight the urge to consume her myself.
There are so many throw pillows in my place; a handful have toppled to the floor. I roll Esme over onto her back so she’s cradled among the soft cushions, and then I drag my mouth from hers, licking my way down her neck to her collarbone.
“Sulien,” she moans, and I grow hard at the sound.
Shoving up the thin cotton of her shirt, I continue my trail of kisses over her bare flesh, enjoying not only the salty, sweet taste of her skin, but also the way she twists and laughs and groans. Just like she did all those years ago.
The two times blend together, and for a moment, I can imagine I haven’t lost decades of this magic.
I dip my tongue in her belly button as I pull down her leggings and underwear. Golden curls, pressed flat by fabric, greet me. I nuzzle them, breathing in her scent, rubbing my bearded cheek against this intimate part of her.
“Sulien!” Her voice is half scolding, half giggle, and I feel the demanding tug of her fingers in my hair, as if she’s trying to pull me away from perfection.
I snarl as I palm her thighs wider and nip at the soft flesh of her lower belly.
“Fine, you evil dragon.” Her voice is breathless, and I glance up to find her face flushed, chest heaving, as she tries to glare down at me. “I want an I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was the moment I stepped into your shop orgasm. Got it?”
A wicked grin spreads over my face. I don’t care who the bastard is she’s devoted her life to, but they’re forgotten with my face inches from her pussy. She’ll never think of them again once I’m done with her.
Because I’ll never be finished.
“One for every day,” I rasp.
Her sass disappears with a hard swallow. “One orgasm for each day you’ve been here? No, that’s, like … more than thirty orgasms. I’ll die.” Despite her morbid words, there’s heat in her eyes, and her lips press tight, trying to suppress a smile.
“Die happy,” I say with a smirk before swiping my tongue up her vulva, collecting the wetness that’s all for me.
“You’re evil. Oh gods.” Esme’s head drops back to a pillow, and her legs hook over my shoulders, heels digging into my shoulder blades to urge me forward. “You’d better fucking kill me,” she mutters as her hips rock against my greedy mouth. “Because I’m going to murder you.”
I suck her tight clit and growl a wordless response. The sound must create the right vibration because, the next thing I know, she’s tensing and convulsing and shouting my name.
“One,” I grunt before sucking on her inner thigh, just hard enough to leave a hickey.
That’s how I plan to keep track.
I slip two fingers inside her and get to work.
When there are five hickeys, Esme uses her feet to press hard on my chest and shove me away.
I could probably win against her shaky legs, but I decide to give my harpy a respite.
A short one. Crawling up her body, I kiss a trail as I go and try to ignore my demanding hard-on.
My cock wants to slide into her soaking wet channel so fucking bad.
When I’m sprawled beside her, head propped on my hand so I can gaze down at the woman I love, I watch as she raises her hand, fingers still twitching with post-orgasmic shocks, slides it under my beard, and wraps the digits around my neck. As if she wants to strangle me.
I lean hard into her hand, liking the idea of her fingers leaving impressions on my skin. But she’s not trying to choke. Instead, her touch traces the thick scar. The proof that I had to change or die.
Please, forgive me.
“Does it still hurt?” she asks.
I shake my head. When compared to the pain of losing her, it was nothing.
“You can’t leave again,” she says, her tone allowing no argument.
“Your partner. They’ll want me gone.”
And they could get me to leave. Whoever they are, they wouldn’t need force or might. If it came to a fight, I’m confident I would win.
No. All they would need to do is take Esme into their arms.
I would go, if only to survive the pain.
Her brow dips. “Who?”
Hmm, were my orgasms that good?
“You’re devoted, you said”—Was that just a few hours ago?—“to another.”
Esme’s mouth drops open, and now, I feel the strength in her fingers, tightening enough to make me pay attention.
“I’m devoted to you, Sulien Blaythorn. Only you.”
Does she mean what I think she means? After all this time, I’m the one who holds her devotion?
“You still want me?” I rasp.
“Want you?” She stares at me, expression bewildered. “I was coming to get you.”