Mad, Bad & Dangerous

“Yours seem to be otherwise occupied,” Kett panted, but Bael withdrew them to help her peel off her leather trousers, underwear and boots. Naked, she curled against him, loving the rough denim abrading her bare thighs.

Then she stopped, because the thigh she had curled around Bael’s waist was her right one-and the scar on it seemed to have faded dramatically.

She jerked her head up to stare at Bael. “Did you do that?”

“Reckon so,” he said, stroking it. “I can do it again if you’d like, see if it fades more.” She shivered as his fingers tickled a sensuous path up her thigh. “How does it feel?”

“Wonderful,” Kett moaned, and he laughed.

“I meant the scar. The muscle. Inside. Has it eased?”

But the only muscle Kett could think of inside her was the big one threatening to burst out of Bael’s fly. She rubbed her hand over it and he shuddered. She unfastened the top button and felt his whole body tense.

Kett swung herself over him completely, straddling his thighs and pressing her bare body against his. His chest was broad and firm against her breasts, tiny crisp hairs tickling her into distraction as she slid her hand up his neck to his cheek and kissed him, hard.

Her other hand delved between them, freeing his cock and palming it, feeling its thickness and its strength, smearing the drop of liquid from the head all over. Bael’s fingers gripped her hard, his hand tightening on her breast almost to the point of pain, and he bit down on her lip.

“Kett,” he said, kissing her face madly, “I wanted to take this slow, and stroke you and lick you, I wanted-”

“I want you to fuck me,” Kett said, ravenous for him, and when she rubbed the sticky head of his cock against the slick, wet folds of her pussy, he groaned and pushed inside her.

She sank down, taking as much of him as she could, reaching down to free his balls from the confines of his clothes and pressing herself against them. He felt so damn good inside her, filling her up completely. She rose and fell, arching her back, pressing her breasts into his hands. Bael went one better and dipped his head to suck and bite on her nipple.

Afraid she was going to orgasm immediately and end it too soon, Kett tried to slow down, but Bael was pounding into her, sliding deep into her slick heat, his hands everywhere, guiding and stroking and driving her mad.

She couldn’t sustain it. Gripping his shoulders with both hands, she abandoned herself to the driving pleasure building in her and rode him to a hot, screaming climax.

She was barely aware he’d come, trembling and shaking as she was, breathing hard, her body heavy against him. Bael held her, stroked her back, kissed her hair. She thought he might be trembling too.

“You never, ever disappoint me,” he said softly against her temple, and Kett looked up at the simplest and fullest praise she’d ever received.

She kissed him, safe and loved and more content than she could ever remember being.

Kett cuddled against him, warm and quiet, and Bael tugged at the blanket she’d been wearing, draping it over her bare back and smiling at her murmur of thanks. She was delicious like this, boneless and lazy, her body soft and sated, snuggling up to him like a sleepy kitten.

She dozed for a while but he stayed awake, watching the flicker of the floating ball of fire he’d created. Rain spattered against the windows, blown in fits and jerks, and a draught came in under the door.

Bael manifested another fireball just by thinking about it, lengthened it out into a narrow shape about a yard long and floated it down to the gap under the door. A draught-excluder made of flames.

He was astonished he could do such a thing. No matter how much his father and Albhar had tried to tutor him, he’d never been able to master the simplest of spells. But then, this didn’t seem to be about spells. This was about power, innate magic. The sort Albhar had so little of.

His former mentor had made up for his lack of power by learning every spell there had ever been. Including, apparently, one that involved the death of his pupil, his friend’s son, and in fact the man who kept him in such luxurious style.

The fireballs warming the room grew a little brighter with his anger and he quickly tried to calm himself. He didn’t want to set the place on fire.

In his arms, Kett stirred, cuddling closer, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. Overwhelmed with love, he clasped her tighter to him.

Albhar had tried to kill her. Twice.

Maybe three times.

Because who else could have turned her to stone when she was a baby? Who else would have?

He would burn.

The buzz of Kett’s scryer startled her awake, jolting her against him. Bael smiled at her as she opened her eyes, the silver fire in them banked by sleep. He brushed his lips gently against hers, eliciting a drowsy smile from her before she picked up the scryer and yawned, “Yeah?”

“Did I wake you, pet?”

It was Striker. Bael felt that prickle of unease run through him, like an animal sensing a predator. Annoyed that the last vestiges of his warm, satisfied stupor had been blasted away, he scowled at the handsome face smirking out from Kett’s scryer.

“Yes, you did wake me, actually,” Kett said, apparently unafraid.

“I’d pretend I’m sorry, but I ain’t. We all set for tomorrow?”

“Think so, yeah. Have you spoken to Chance?”

Striker grinned. “She wants to come.”

“Did you tell her she couldn’t?”

“Yep.”

“Did you tell her why?”

Striker grinned wider. “Nope. Stupid girl ought to be able to figure it out herself.”

“Yes, well.” Kett shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “These things are often more apparent to other people. Is Dark coming?”

“Yeah. Apparently he can’t get enough of fighting the bastards.”

“A man after your own heart. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

She ended the call, letting the little hemisphere of rock thud onto the sofa, and curled back against Bael’s body, nuzzling his shoulder. Her back shook with a small laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Chance. I bet she’s livid to be left out.”

“Left out of what?”

“A good fight.”

Bael couldn’t help smiling, wondering who she was going to fight. Then he frowned, tilted her face up to his. “Now, I know why she shouldn’t fight, but what do you know?”

“I know she’s pregnant.” Kett shrugged. “Animal senses.”

“She smells different,” Bael agreed. “And her fa- Striker knows?” He couldn’t think of that hideously evil man as being anybody’s father-let alone his queen’s.

“He always knows,” Kett said. “He knew Nuala was pregnant before she did. And he knew they were going to be triplets. And he knew there’d be two girls and a boy. He even knew the birth order.”

Bael whistled.

“Of course, being Striker, he wrote it down somewhere and didn’t tell her. Hey,” she said, sitting up and pushing her springy hair back, “will Chance and Dark’s kids be Nasc? I mean, she’s human. Well, almost human.”

Bael shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know any Nasc who’ve mated with non-Nasc. Hell, I don’t know any other Nasc at all, except for them.”

“None at all?”

“No.” He idly stroked her back. “I was always too frightened of being discovered. I listened for news about the