“It is,” he whispered hoarsely, nearly failing to get the words out. She could feel the pain in them, in him.
“No,” she said quietly. “That’s the easy way. To give up, to blame yourself and to think you must suffer. Tell me, does anyone else put the blame on you? Do they say that you must pay?”
“Not in so many words,” he said. “But I know they do. They must.”
“Why?” she challenged. “If people aren’t saying it. If they aren’t accusing you of anything, if they aren’t trying to punish you, then why do you automatically assume they’re all lying? Do you not trust anyone to tell you the truth?”
Altair’s mouth worked frantically, but her logic was pushing through his defenses, even as she slipped closer, further into his personal space.
“Are you surrounded by liars instead of friends?” she challenged.
“No...”
“Then why do you assume they lie about this?” she said. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because you’re afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
There. She saw it, in his eyes. A spark of anger. She was challenging him, accusing him of fear. The one thing he was doing his best to pretend he had none of, when it came to himself. Fearing for her was one thing, but being afraid of something, well that was quite different.
“You are afraid of living,” she growled. “Afraid of exposing yourself, of putting yourself out there. Because you might experience hurt again. You might experience pain. And you’ve felt it once, and you are afraid of it now. It got the better of you. It beat you.”
“That’s not true,” he snarled, eyes glittering dangerously. “I am not afraid.”
“Oh, you’re not?” she challenged, stepping closer. Less than a foot separated them now. “You’re not afraid?”
“No. I am not. I fear nothing. Not even death.”
She grinned. “Oh, I know you don’t fear death. Death is easy. Death is lazy. It’s a loophole. A way out. I think you’re afraid of being alive.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” she said, reaching down, untying the knot that held her robes tight.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling you out,” she said, shrugging out of the robes. “If you aren’t afraid, if you’re as strong as you think you are. Then prove it. Show me how alive you are, Altair of the Storm Dragons. Show me.”
Her shirt followed the robes to the ground.
“Christine?” he said uneasily.
“See,” she said, undoing her loose pants, letting them too fall to the ground. She stepped out of them easily as Altair backed up another step. “I knew you didn’t have it in you. You want to take the easy way out.”
“Stop saying that,” he growled, the spark igniting again.
“You don’t want to be brave anymore,” she said.
Her bra slid off. His eyes inadvertently slipped down, staring at her chest for several long moments.
“What are you waiting for Altair?” she dared. “Prove it. Prove you still want to live. Prove to me, that you’re willing to fight for something other than yourself.”
He hesitated, and for a split second, she feared that he was too far gone. That the spark wasn’t enough, that he was still going to reject her.
His eyes darted around, taking her in, then going vacant and distant for a moment. Watching him, she saw his nostrils flare. His chest heaved.
Then the spark became a fire, and she grinned.
There he was.
Strong hands took her by the waist as Altair surged forward, lifting her from the ground, pulling her in tight to his body. Her arms slid around his neck like they belonged, while her legs did their best to wrap around his powerful waist.
“I am not afraid,” he hissed.
Then he kissed her.
Flames spread across her body.
I believe you, Altair. I believe you...
Chapter Twenty-Four
Christine
IT WAS WILD. CRAZY. She couldn’t believe they were going to do this.
But there was no stopping him now. His hunger was undeniable and she succumbed to it without a fight, letting him take her.
Fabric ripped as he simply tore his shirt from his body, in too much of a hurry to lift it up. Her eyes swelled as his muscles bunched and he ripped the material with ease. Thick pecs and stiff, washboard abs greeted her eyes in the dim light of the arena.
Christine felt her tongue flick out and across her lips, wetting them as she dropped out of his grip and to her knees, bringing his pants to the ground as she went.
His cock sprang free, rigid and ready. It practically throbbed as she wrapped her hand around it. Altair’s groan nearly swept the rest of the strength from her knees as he trembled at her touch. He was hers, right then, to do with as she pleased, when she pleased.
Christine was in charge, and the feeling of power that surged through her was unlike anything she’d experienced before. It wasn’t like magic, physical, tangible sort of thing, but rather an experience, a feeling.
Her mouth opened and she took him in slowly, using her tongue, looking up at him, eager to watch his face. The pain that was always written in the corners of his eyes disappeared as she bobbed up and down with painfully precise, measured strokes, never moving too fast. She wanted him to savor this, to enjoy it, just like she was doing.
Fingers slid through her hair, loosening the ponytail but not getting rid of it entirely. Altair pushed her down gently and she went deeper, beyond the tip of his head. Blue eyes rolled back into his skull almost immediately. She wanted to grin, to giggle with delight, but that was made a little difficult by the object in her mouth.
Instead, she reached up to cup his sack, gently massaging it, enjoying the moment. He was hers, putty in her hands—literally—and Christine knew
