Chapter Thirteen #2
Mordred kicks his webbed feet outta the constraints of his footwear with obvious relief. Then he takes a running leap and cannonballs into the water with a gleeful whoop and a big old splash.
Shit must be deeper than it looks, because the guy totally submerges.
Then he pops up with blue hair streaming and dimples on full display.
“Zang, babes, whatcha waiting for?” the kraken hoots. A tangle of thick purple-black tentacles sprouts from his torso to play in the bubbles. “Must be a hot spring under this mountain. Water’s piped in. None of that chlorine and shit. This setup is sigma, for real.”
“Will we be… private here?” Lucius is still doggedly searching the door for a lock.
I glance dubiously at the glass walls—because Zara does want privacy and no news cams tonight.
She’s made that pretty crystal.
With the walls frosted over from the outside and the glass all steamed up in here, I figure we’ll be private enough.
Unless someone moseys in to join us.
“Don’t worry, Lucius. This igloo is bespelled. It’ll only open for a Mercury. My parents never come out here, and my sister’s visiting our cousins in Boston for the holidays, so…” Neo shrugs and looks hopeful.
“You did good, baby.” Right away, Zara relaxes and gives our bookworm the praise he’s craving. “You did so good. This is literally the perfect space to break Mordred’s heat.”
Neo’s happy smile makes me smile too, just like always. He’s already sweating from the heat and the truckload of pheromones building up in here.
Max lets loose with a possessive growl and stalks straight over to peel Neo outta his sparkly Christmas sweater and pressed ivory chinos and the innocent tighty-whities our bookworm’s wearing underneath.
Letting us all enjoy the sculpted work of art that’s our Neo when he’s nakey.
Neo’s broad shoulders are getting even broader with the regimen of combat training we’re giving him. Under all that soft fair skin, his biceps bulge and his six-pack abs flex. When he pulls off his Santa hat, that mop of curls almost grazes his shoulders.
“You look very nice tonight, darling,” V says to him softly. Beautiful must be in a good mood, cuz he ain’t calling Neo by his surname or saying anything else that’s awful (yet).
“So do you,” Neo says generously. “You make a really pretty gangster, Vasili.”
V being V, of course he has to punch Neo’s buttons.
“And you’re deliciously hard, aren’t you?” Vasili purrs, dangerous eyes glittering under the shadow of his fedora like moonlight on ice. “How many pumps of Maxim’s dragon dick will that lovely tight hole of yours be able to handle tonight before you spill in his hand and make a mess?”
Even after all these months, Neo still blushes like a gal—all the way to his hairline—whenever we talk about his dick or his hole.
“Do not tease him, sweetheart,” Max says gruffly to Vasili. “Tonight, he is mine first.”
“No fighting,” Neo manages to gasp through his blushes. “There’s plenty of me to go around. And Mordred comes first tonight. Right, Zara?”
“That’s right, baby.” Zara lowers herself to the chaise with a sigh, stretches her legs before her, and gives Lucius (who’s hovering and very attentive) a wry grin. “You wanna help me with my boots, Teach? I can’t wear ’em if we’re all gonna fuck. And it’s getting kinda hard to reach my feet.”
“Of course, my dear. Whatever you need.” Lucius drops alertly to his knees and starts unlacing her combat boots. When he eases off the first boot and her thick sock slides off with it, our gal sighs happily and wiggles her toes.
“Max looks warm. Why don’t you help our dragon strip down?” she encourages Neo, because Zara’s good like that.
With nine of us in this polycule, you might think it’d be easy for someone to feel overlooked. But Zara makes sure we’re all getting enough attention.
Sure, she’s the queen. But she doesn’t demand to be front and center
Neo obligingly helps Max peel outta the tee shirt and white jeans that were the dragon’s idea of White Christmas party duds. The dim play of colored light from the hot tub plays over Max’s wiry physique, showing off his Black Sea suntan and the buttery blond hair spilling over his shoulders.
Max never got enough to eat in his dragon lair growing up, and a shifter burns a lotta calories. But I’m glad to see he’s added a little weight since we all tied the knot.
Makes me happy too that Max doesn’t sidle around to hide his scarred back from the rest of us, the way he used to. After all these months as a polycule, guess the guy’s finally accepted that we’re all comfy with his scars.
I’m just sorry as fuck that he was ever hurt like that.
Zara slips outta my tuxedo jacket and lays it gently over the chaise with a soft smile. But her eyes linger on Max in a way that tells me she’s having the exact same thought.
V’s pouring moon wine into a row of tiny glasses and smirking to himself over whatever horrible thing he’s thinking. The tip of one razor-sharp fang peeks between his cruel lips Iike a threat.
Sparrow’s peeling outta his sparkly silver dragonscale getup.
I’d normally go help the guy, but I can see he’s doing it as a slow striptease for Vasili.
Dragging down his zipper one centimeter at a time to bare a lengthening sliver of olive skin.
Smiling slyly at V through that curtain of moss-green hair—
That’s when Ronin closes in behind me. His fingers clench roughly in my shirt.
I barely get a sec to suck in a breath before that psycho bully warlock I used to hate, but somehow mated, rips my fancy tuxedo shirt open with a single yank. My buttons go flying and ping against the glass walls like buckshot.
My body twitches in reaction. My skin gets tight and tingly.
“You’re hot for it tonight too, ain’tcha?” I hitch my brows and glance over my shoulder as Ronin wrestles the shirt off my big torso and thick arms, then tosses the thing aside.
“You taking the mickey or what?” Under his tawny skin and that spill of inky hair, Ronin’s face is ruddy with warmth.
His topaz eyes smolder into mine. “With all those bloody pheromones that orgy’s kicking out back there?
And all the mating scent in here? Our demon’s not the only bloke going into heat, is he? ”
My eyes shoot wide in surprise, then veer toward Lucius. He’s Ronin’s only alpha, the only one whose bite Ronin’s ever taken.
Right now, Lucius is preoccupied, working off Zara’s second boot and running his possessive hands up her leg.
“Geez Louise, firecracker,” I mutter to Ronin. “You can’t hide this shit from Lu—”
“Don’t you bloody dare tell Lucius,” Ronin hisses in my ear. “Mordred needs him more tonight. Him and Zara. It’s Lucius’ bite that just set off his superheat, innit?”
My head snaps toward Ronin. My mouth pops open to argue. But the guy darts in to nip my lower lip in a sharp sucking kiss that shuts me right up.
That kiss is a humdinger, for real.
Us two, we don’t normally smooch. Because frenemies.
Now the intoxicating taste of sin and whiskey fills my head and just about takes the top of my skull off. The burn of spice and honey sears my senses.
That’s him.
Ronin.
That’s how he tastes.
And suddenly I can’t get enough.
“Mmmph—” I manage to say. Kinda hard to talk when I’m chasing his mouth for more.
But the bastard pulls back. Dammit.
My eyes snap open and I scowl.
“No telling Lucius,” Ronin repeats, low and intent. His burning tiger eyes, bare inches from mine, narrow and turn all feral. “Besides, you’ll take care of my little problem yourself, won’t you, mate?”