My mate. My mate. Had he thought it—or had she? Joined in body and soul, he couldn’t tell. Swept away in burning rapture, he had no desire to ponder, only to feel. Consumed by heat and light, he wished only to surrender to it. He’d almost swear they were sharing one orgasm.
With one final shuddering thrust, he emptied himself. His knees gave out then, and they toppled into the water and sank to the bottom. They came up sputtering.
Aftershocks continued to ripple. His unassuming, once-negligible fyre now burned strongly. He felt wildly, wholly alive—stunned, bemused, sensing he’d been altered in some significant way yet not comprehending the transformation.
She swayed on her feet, her gaze wide, appearing as floored as he.
He reached out for her in reassurance when the voice slammed into his brain. You mated him to spite me, didn’t you?
Angry words hammered, but O’ne wasn’t the one speaking. The accusation was directed at her. It took a moment for comprehension to dawn. When it did, his jaw dropped. “Oh my god, am I hearing your dragoness?”
Chapter Eighteen
Was that your way of preventing me from toasting him? the dragoness raged.
He can hear you. O’ne struggled to come to terms with what she had done. No priestess had taken a mate before. She’d vowed fealty and devotion to the Eternal Fyre, forsaking all others. In biting H’ry, their fyres had merged and bonded them forever.
How could she serve the sacred flame and a mate?
He raked a hand over his wet hair. “I hear a voice. It’s not you, is it?”
You mated him to thwart me, the dragoness fumed.
No. You didn’t factor into it at all. She’d mated him because she couldn’t help it, but relief bloomed because as much as their mating complicated her duty, it secured his safety. The dragoness could hate him with every drop of vitriol in her, but she would not, could not kill their mate. She couldn’t singe a single hair on his head.
The dragoness snarled.
H’ry rubbed his temples. “What’s going on?”
O’ne touched his forearm. “You are hearing my dragoness. Let’s get out of the pool, and I’ll try to explain.” As much as she could. She hoped he wouldn’t hate her. Overcome by lust and longing, she’d done the unthinkable.
He hopped onto the pool ledge and then helped her out. Naked, he strode to his clothing while she lingered, appreciating his physique, the contraction of muscles in his buttocks and thighs. Several scars, some long, some round and puckered, marred his skin, but they enhanced his appeal, bestowed him with a warrior’s patina. Dragons were thorns and horns, spikes and scales. A degree of roughness, coarseness in a male was attractive. Her fyre snapped and crackled, and, despite the looming awkward conversation, desire stirred anew.
He’s a good fuck, I’ll credit him that. The dragoness sniffed.
He whipped around.
He can hear you! O’ne fired back.
So he can! She chortled.
“My dragoness was, um, impressed,” she said by way of explanation.
A self-deprecating grin teased his mouth as he handed her his towel. “And you?” Water had darkened his hair, and droplets of liquid slithered down his torso, inviting her to lick them away.
“Even more so,” she admitted, accepted the towel, dried herself, and handed it back to him. She donned her gown while he dried off, surreptitiously staring at him. Dragons were frequently naked, the shift between demiforma and dragon rendering nudity a boring inevitability. Except H’ry was…different.
Too soon, he pulled on his pants. He dabbed his throat and then checked the wet but pristine white towel. “I could have sworn you’d drawn blood.” He chuckled.
She had. Mating bites healed quickly. “About that…I…I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bitten you. The urge was strong, and I was weak, but I shouldn’t have done it.”
“I’m not complaining. I didn’t know I was into biting—I’d never been bitten before—but it intensified everything.”
Go ahead. Tell him. Explain it! the dragoness cackled.
He squinted and rubbed his temples in a circular motion. “This is the part that’s hard to get used to—hearing voices. On Earth, we would consider that mental illness.” He canted his head then. “What are you supposed to tell me?”
“When I bit you, there was an…exchange. A spark of my fyre exists in you, and a flicker of your fyre lives in me.”
“Oh,” he said matter-of-factly, still not understanding.
How could he? All of this was new to him. But, she had known. She’d been lost in sensation, but that did not excuse her actions.
Would he hate her? She’d robbed him of choice. One’s fyre chose one’s mate, so bonding wasn’t volitional, but no dragon would deliver a mating bite without the other’s consent. He’d told her to go ahead, but his consent hadn’t been given in knowledge but in ignorance. She, who understood better than most, the agonies of not having choices, had violated the most basic rule of conduct.
A priestess should be immune to emotions. And if they occurred, suppression was the only recourse. One did not revel in feeling. Did not act on desire. One sublimated it into service to the greater good.
“The merger of our fyres bonded us as mates.” She held up a hand when he would have spoken because if she didn’t forge on, she would lose the nerve. How do I say this? What are the words?
Oh, for sacred fyre! the dragoness snarled. She’s trying to say we’re stuck with you forever.
“She doesn’t like me, does she?” He chuckled.
She couldn’t find a smile to return. “Dragons mate for life, and ordinary Draconians live for thousands of years. But I am the priestess. For as long as I serve the Eternal Fyre, my life will continue.”
Possibly
