Chapter Seventeen
TORION
Ipanted and thrashed against the blaze that burned over my limbs and up my throat like fire surrounding me, about to burst from my lips.
Sharp blades scratched over my chest and down my back, stabbing my heels and fingertips.
I groaned, trapped in a dark shroud of flames.
I searched around me, groping desperately, certain there'd been shelter here at one point, a safe haven, soft and full and scented like—
A cool shiver doused the scorch marks on my chest.
"Shh, it's all right. I'm here now."
My eyes opened to a gray view of rising linen sheets. "Brigid?" I rasped out.
Another cool touch soothed away the sting and ache of my right hand, and I watched my omega lift my hand to her mouth, kissing the center.
"You're feverish," she murmured, stroking her cheek against my palm, a strange tension leaving my fingers as if they'd found what they'd been searching for.
Of course they had.
"The rut," I said, and the words came out in a growl.
She nodded, releasing my hand and crouching over my bare body, bending to trace her mouth over the hard scales that were trying to rake their way out of me. At the first touch, the pain vanished, along with the urge to tear myself open. Claws I hadn't noticed receded from my hands and feet.
"I just saw our guests off," Brigid said, and then stretched her glorious frame over mine, dressed in a thin nightgown that only did the faintest job of hiding all the lines and curves, swells and valleys, the full map of her I was so obsessed with.
I groaned, rocking up into her, face going hot at the immediate drip of fluid from my cock, pooling on my belly between us.
"De Roche said if he stayed another second—"
I snarled, rearing up and catching Brigid's mouth with mine, drinking the muffled words, the silky taste of her, flavored with honey and tea.
I didn't care what Seamus said. I didn't care if they were still here, or if they were halfway back to Bleake Isle.
I'd suffered three nights without Brigid and woke up with the rut racing through me like an inferno. Only one thing mattered now.
I rolled us in the bed, Brigid's nightdress tangling and getting in the way of me sinking between her thighs. I released her only long enough to reach for the hem and tear it open.
"Torion," Brigid called, clasping my face in her hands. I moaned. Every touch from her was like dipping into a cool stream at the height of summer. "It's all right. It's time. I'm here."
The soft feel of the inside of her thighs as they spread and welcomed me in their cradle was so beautifully tender, so complete, it drew another flood of readiness out of me.
I reached between us and pressed the head of my length against her sex so I could help slicken and ready her.
Even there—usually so brightly hot against me—was a relieving contrast to my fevered desire.
"Tell me you want this. Tell me you're ready," I pleaded, rubbing myself against her, eyes fixed to her tongue as it flicked out and wet her lips on a panting sigh.
"I want a child, Torion," she said.
My mouth formed a feral smile, my teeth sharp. The words were sharp and commanding, my bossy little witch. They weren't romantic. They weren't even lustful. But they were honest.
Still, I wanted a little equality between us.
I gripped at the cotton, grinned as her eyes narrowed, and finished ripping her nightdress apart, baring her to me.
She growled, and the sound made me answer in kind, bowing over her lithe body, taking a breast in hand and the other pert nipple between my teeth.
Brigid arched with a groan, and my purr rushed out, not low and gentle at all but an urgent roar.
"I want—" She gasped, and I traced my tongue around her nipple, then suckled, the refreshing taste of her sliding down my throat and cooling the dragon fire that waited there. "I want to feel you inside of me, alpha."
I moaned against her and stretched until she was pressed deep into the soft cushions of the nest beneath me. Her feet dug into the back of my thighs, and I smiled at the scrape of her callouses. My omega was not soft. She had sharp angles and a tart tone.
"I like when you call me Torion," I said, because it was still so new to be alpha, to have the title be mine rather than my father's.
"Oh," she said, and I propped myself on my elbows on either side of her shoulders, so we could look into one another's face. She smiled, shy and sweet enough to make my heart pound. "I prefer Brigid to omega. Witch is nice too."
My forehead rested against hers, and the rut granted us a moment of closeness, friendship.
But the way her body was already opening to the tip of my cock rose up in my consciousness.
The little graze of her nipples against my chest where my scales were eager to rise.
The taste of her on my tongue, like brandy and ice.
"Don't look away," I whispered.
Her hands held to the back of my neck, fingers twisting around locks of hair, eyes widening with the first nudge.
Fang's fire, there was nothing like it. I'd been young and inexperienced the first time I'd been with an omega, and everything was panic and excitement and urgent movement.
I hadn't been aware of anything other than enjoying myself.
Brigid was so wet, hot and cool at the same time—or maybe it wasn't about temperature at all, but that she was what my rut demanded, the only possible succor.
She seemed to suck me into her, like lips grasping and swallowing me deeper, and it took every ounce of effort in me to keep my eyes open as I'd demanded of her.
My brow furrowed as I tried to catalogue every sensation, every individual moment.
Her hypnotic stare, the way our breaths pressed us closer, the snag of her fingernails tightening at the nape of my neck as I filled her to the root.
We paused there, my head empty and too full all at once.
And as if our physical union created one of thought too, we both smiled, laughed, shuddered against one another as we held in place.
I sipped at her lips, kissed her cheek, her jaw, and thought I might stay like this forever, dizzy and grounded.
"Torion." My name was a plea, whimpered in need.
I was meant to act, wasn't I? There'd been a rhythm to it in the past, one that went too fast. But this was better than those fading memories. Just the simple act of being inside Brigid was more than anything I'd ever experienced before. It was enough. It was overwhelming.
Brigid huffed, moving beneath me, and the silk and squeeze of her was a heady shock, the way she pulled sound from my chest and pleasure from my bones. She shifted into me once more, and I lost the strength in my arms, in my neck, falling into her.
"Yes, Torion, I need—"
Yes, that was it, that was what I was meant to be doing, moving with her, rocking and joining and rubbing against her until we both fell apart. But it was too good, the pant of her breath on my throat stealing the air from my lungs, the way she moved against me, taking what she wanted.
Taking me with her.
With a groan and a surge of effort, I turned us back on the bed, keeping Brigid fixed on my length, watching her catch her breath and balance, spread over my lap.
She didn't hesitate. Her elegant hands, worked and marked with scars and callouses, braced against my chest as she rose and fell, swallowing me up and then stroking me with heat and slick arousal.
"Torion, I—you feel—"
"Don't stop, witch," I managed through gritted teeth, watching where we were joined, the incredible spread of her lips around me, the tight grip she held me in, welcomed me with.
I looked up and groaned as I found her watching the same point, her mouth open on a moan.
I wished her hair was down, curtaining around us, but her throat was exposed, lean and strong, and my mouth watered at the sight of her swallowing a cry.
I bucked and purred as the sound escaped in answer, bright and sweet and pleading.
"You're getting—" She grunted, eyes widening. "You're getting bigger. Oh, Torion, I want—"
A stony ache was building at the base of my cock, and every time Brigid bore down the feel of her rubbing against it made me want to shout, to claw the bedding apart, to spread my wings and fly hard into the sun.
The spot grew swollen, a dark and violent shade of red—my knot.
My hands caught Brigid by the thighs, tugging her harder against the growing knot, watching her spread wider over it and then retreat again with a soft cry of disappointment.
She wanted it, even as her body resisted the effort, and still, my knot grew.
I sat up abruptly, bumping our chests together, wrapping one arm around Brigid's waist, holding her by the back of the neck with the other.
"Take my knot, Brigid," I rumbled, begged, whispered. "It's yours by right."
She whined, leaning back into my hold, and pressed down a little harder this time, a little longer, before rising up again, gasping for air.
Her eyes met mine and I felt it between us, the way it always was, the way I could grab the very heart of her and hold it still, just for a moment, just with a look.
"I am yours, witch. Take me."
Her lashes fluttered, and her arms swung around my shoulders, our kiss clumsy.
She bounced on me a few times, and I nearly rose up, forced her down, demanded what we both wanted.
But with a delicious curl of her hips, her nose pressed to mine, our breath mingling, she swiveled her hips just so, seating herself with a sudden grace and ease.