Chapter Six #2
“You know. Are you and Pax together? Like, a couple. Maybe he’s trying to look good for you.”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, sorry, I thought I sensed some chemistry,” she whispers, giving me a conspiratorial smirk. “Like things might be heading that way.”
“They’re not,” I say sharply, my gaze boring into hers.
“Sorry. I’m clearly not good at guessing these things.” She leans on the wall next to me, so close that if I reached out a finger, I would brush her hip. There’s not even a hint of an undergarment beneath the thin material of her dress.
Fuck me. Every supernatural is going to be salivating at the scent of her sex after ten minutes in the place, imagining tasting the sweet nectar between her thighs…
“Well, I’m glad you’re coming with us,” she says lightly, interrupting my obscene train of thought. “That way, I’ll have someone to talk to while Pax makes out with everything with a pair of lips. It gets boring standing there by myself.”
“I won’t leave your side,” I promise, my voice coming out a little gruffer than I intended.
She shoots me a strange look, and I try to dial down the intensity.
With a shrug, I push off the wall and step into the living room, flopping down on the sagging sofa like I’ve lost interest in the conversation.
But my thoughts are churning, and my own power is swelling inside me, my dragon anticipating a challenge.
Vynessa leans against the arm of the sofa, so close I could reach out and touch her.
My dragon stirs inside me, feeding me an image.
Pulling her around to my knees, hiking up her skirt, and kissing her swollen sex.
Opening its tender petals and gently suckling the sweet slick from between, listening to her moan with helpless pleasure.
Letting my tongue extend to its full, forked length and burying it in her sweet, forbidden flesh.
Her knees on my shoulders as she writhes, riding my face until she finds the release she craves…
Paxton finally emerges from our room, his golden hair combed back with oil, a clean shirt replacing the one he wore to work out. I give my dragon a fierce scolding and focus on the fact that I look like a slob in comparison to Vynessa’s friend.
Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter what Vynessa thinks of my looks, either. I’m not here to impress her. I’m here to do a job. But damn the demons, it would help if she weren’t so entirely, irresistibly fuckable. Men are going to flock to her wherever we go, supernatural and otherwise.
We leave the house, making our way on foot.
It is less than half a mile, but I have to stop my teeth from grinding as I scan every face, every shadow where someone could hide.
We pass a dozen people on our way, but no one takes an unnatural interest. The streets grow more crowded when we reach the nightlife district, where several taverns and alehouses wait.
“That’s it.” Vynessa moves with confidence toward one with a rowdy crowd inside.
I shoot Paxton a look behind her back, but he seems unconcerned. Noise spills from the tavern’s open door—muffled sounds of laughter and music and glasses thumping down on tables. It’s a far cry from the genteel sounds of tinkling goblets and silverware against porcelain that I’m accustomed to.
I strain to hear more, sensing that the chaos hides an empty chamber underground, down a flight of stairs.
My skin prickles as scales try to erupt.
This place could be a trap. It would be more difficult to escape if belowground.
We need a stone dragon for this. Going below ground always puts me ill at ease.
I must not be doing a great job of hiding it because Vynessa’s hand wraps around my forearm.
“Don’t be scared, no one here is going to bite,” she says, giving me a reassuring squeeze.
“The guy who told me about the place said the bar has very strict hospitality laws, and there haven’t been any violent incidences against humans as long as he’s been here.
Though he did say there was a goblin brawl last month. ”
“I’m not scared of goblins.” I pull my arm away, annoyed with myself that I’m acting like such a novice that she’s having to look out for me.
“Whatever you say,” she teases, before turning and marching towards the door.
At the entrance, a warty troll is sitting on a stool, looking grumpy.
When we approach, he lifts his head, nostrils flaring to scent us while his eyes scan us.
I glance sideways at Vynessa, since I know she’s not accustomed to interacting with supernaturals.
She smiles brightly at him. “We’re here to meet the group from the DLSA,” she says.
“Go on then,” the troll rumbles, gesturing us inside. “Don’t need a life story.”