Chapter 16
Magma
Take!
The word detonates through me before I can shut it down. My dragon roars inside me, scales rubbing.
Mine! Mine! Mine!
I watch Carla running away.
Hunt! Female! Now!
My dragon goes nuts inside me. He claws at my insides.
Yes! Hunt!
In the next instant, I’m running. I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself.
She’s small, and the undergrowth is so thick that in almost no time at all, I’m on her.
I close the gap without even trying. I reach out and catch her hand.
She swings around to face me with a sound that’s half yelp and half gasp, and her eyes are huge and filled with terror. Her cheeks are pink. She’s beautiful.
Take female! Now!
No. No!
I get a hold of my beast with both hands and drag him back. I am not that male. I am not one of those feral beasts. I am not ruled by instinct and impulse and blood. I am her protection. I will be her protection, or so fucking help me.
“I’m sorry.” She’s whispering it. Stricken. Her eyes dart away from mine. “I didn’t mean to watch you. I…was shocked.”
And then I get a nose full of her.
Fuck.
Her pussy is wet. She’s turned on. I can smell it on her, warm and salty and female. My mouth fills with saliva, and my already rock-hard cock gets even harder.
No!
Fuck!
Her breasts look bigger somehow. The lace of her bra is damp, and her breasts strain against it with every breath she pulls in; her nipples are hard ripe cherries beneath the fabric. She’s breathing fast, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pulls that do nothing at all to help me.
“You’re turned on,” I tell her.
It isn’t an accusation. It’s just a fact. I’m shocked by it.
She licks her lips, a slow drag of her tongue. Then she shakes her head, the gesture loose and unconvincing. “No… I…um…no…”
“Don’t deny it.” My voice comes out low and even. “You’re wet, and—”
The sound hits us both at the same time.
A crash, somewhere in the undergrowth. Close. Not an animal. Too heavy for that, too deliberate, with none of the skittish randomness of jungle wildlife. Then another. Then a third.
I go still.
At least three of them just landed and are now moving through the brush, and they’re not bothering to be quiet about it, which means they either haven’t picked up our scent yet or they don’t care.
I press one finger to my lips and look at Carla.
She nods once. Her face has gone the color of chalk. Her terror makes something in my chest pull tight.
I scoop her up, one arm under her knees and one behind her back, and start moving.
My feet find the soft ground, the grass between the roots, the paths of least resistance.
I make almost no sound at all. She doesn’t either.
She goes rigid in my arms, one hand gripping the back of my neck, and she presses her face into my shoulder.
I need to make for the fig tree. It’s the best we’re going to get right now.
If those males swing this way, the hollow inside gives us a fighting chance of going undetected.
I could take three of them. Probably four if I had to, but the noise would carry.
It would draw more of them, and then I’d be dealing with a different problem entirely.
I get her to the opening and lower her to her feet, angling her toward the gap in the trunk.
She goes in first without being asked, and I follow, pulling a few vines across the entrance as I go.
I do it with care, because any more than a gentle tug would rustle the leaves and make exactly the kind of sound I’m trying to avoid.
Fuck.
It’s not enough. I know it isn’t. The mud on her wore off while she slept, and she smells too much like herself again. Like warm skin, unmistakably female. We have another problem right now.
Her pussy.
She’s still wet. Wet for me, which is information I don’t need right now, and it’s there anyway.
Carla is wet for me.
Holy shit.
I am in so much fucking trouble.
I keep very still and focus on the sounds outside instead of on her. Carla is plastered against me, and she’s shaking. She’s fucking terrified. The thought dulls my lust to something more manageable. I lower my mouth to the shell of her ear.
“Shhhhh.” It’s barely a sound at all.
She nods against me.
She smells fucking incredible, and there was no time to get more mud on her, and my cock is still hard, and there are feral males stalking outside. I need to get my head right because this situation requires every bit of focus I have and then some.
My dragon wants me to fight. He wants me to go out there and put every one of those males in the ground and then come back in here and put Carla on her knees in order to claim what he considers his due.
What is wrong with him?
What is wrong with me?
It’s like the second I walked out of a boardroom and into a jungle, every piece of logical thinking evaporated. I don’t operate like this.
It has to stop.
A growl comes through the undergrowth. Low and rolling, followed by a series of shorter snarls. Carla goes rigid beside me. She pulls in a breath. I lower my mouth to her ear again.
“Shhhh,” I warn again.
She turns her face into the crook of my neck and presses it there and doesn’t move. Good girl. My hand finds the back of her head, and I hold her there.
I will protect her and keep her safe.
I listen with every part of my senses.
Fuck, they’re moving this way. I can track them by the soft disruptions in the birdsong ahead of them, the way the jungle quiets thirty feet before the males do.
Small animals clearing the path. That collective, wordless warning that passes through every living thing in a forest when something dangerous is approaching.
Fuck!
Have they caught our scent? Our trail maybe?
Either is possible. I should have been more careful.
I should have moved us faster and covered our tracks better and not let myself get distracted by the female pressed against my side.
That’s on me. I know it. If we get out of this, I’m going to do better.
I’m going to stop thinking with my dick and start doing the job I came here to do.
They’re on their way here. The noises are getting closer and closer. A crash in the undergrowth, a snarl or a growl.
I put my lips to her ear. “Trust me.”
Carla nods. A single, certain movement, even though she’s terrified.
As quietly and as gently as I can, I get on top of her. There is no elegant way to do it in this space. I keep my weight on my forearms, covering her body with mine from head to knee. She goes still under me, utterly motionless.
I feel fucking terrible. She’ll have my cock digging into her. It can’t be helped. Apparently, I’m not going soft any time soon.
I think the adrenaline is fueling my arousal rather than damping it.
I need to cover her scent as best I can. Mask it with my own, or we are doomed.
Then I reach down between us and cup my hand over her pussy, right over the wet-as-fuck lace, and I hold it there. The warmth of her makes me want to groan. She’s wet right through the lace. I press my hand tighter over her, trying to create a seal.
The males moving closer might scent another shifter male, but hopefully they won’t be able to scent her.
Please!
Hopefully, they will assume another male passed through and moved on. They might not pick up on anything at all. It’s a gamble, like everything in this jungle, but it’s the best I have right now.
If they scent her, I’m going to have to fight.
And if I fight, I’m going to have to pray that I can keep enough of a handle on my dragon to get Carla clear and keep moving, because once blood is in the air, my beast will stop being anything resembling cooperative.
He will want to kill them and then claim his prize, and I might not be able to stop him from doing it.
Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.