Chapter 8

Luc was flying.

He’d never flown, not without an airship or spaceship surrounding him. When he’d watched his brothers take to the skies for the last time before he left home, he’d realized bitterly he’d never know that power, that freedom.

He felt it now.

This was why coffee was so popular. The spirt of fire and air inside him surged through his veins, hot and potent, seeking release. The snug fit of his ships fatigues confined him, and he wanted to rip everything away.

But a small part of him, still cool and restrained if rapidly melting, told him—this wasn’t the effect of coffee, not entirely. Though the alien beverage was fanning the flames…

It was she who had untethered the beast inside him.

He slanted his mouth over hers, inhaling the faint sound of her gasp. The taste of her was as clean as fresh air, rinsed by the sonic shower. But underneath that was something darker, earthy, the scent that had nearly unhinged him when he entered the room and saw her with her hand between her legs.

A hot hunger, fiercer than he could blame on the kyapa-sho or the coffee, swept through him. When his fingers tightened on the back of her neck, a yielding sigh as she tilted her mouth under his nearly sent him over the edge. What edge, he didn’t know, and would he fall—or fly?

When her tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips, he had his answer. With a groan, he dragged her up against his chest. She threaded her arms behind his neck, as if she could pull him closer though there was no room left between them. Their rasping breaths sawed raggedly at what remained of his fragile control. And she seemed no more inhibited. Her fingers grasped his skull between the twists of his hair, and when her tongue circled his mouth, it was a swirling maelstrom that threatened to suck him down. And he was all too willing to go. The drakling soul inside him, silent until now, roared.

He tightened his throat, choking down the sound for fear of terrifying her. He was terrifying himself. He’d always thought his brothers as bullies and blowhards, but maybe they’d needed that bravado to contain this ferocious spirit.

Even while he ran his hand down her bare arms in an urgent caress, he clenched his own muscles against the compulsion to possess her completely. She wasn’t a thing like a ship or a crown to be possessed—he knew that, knew he could never put her in the asset column of an accounting spreadsheet—but his drakling nature fought him, desperate to claim her as a treasure worth fighting for.

His whole body—no, more than whole, parts of himself that had never existed before now—ached with desire for her. The soft, yearning noises she made were more devastating to his control than the stormwinds that raked the deserts into mazes of sand and rock that only the bravest, most foolhardy draklings ever dared traverse.

But his nascent wild spirit dared.

He lifted her, spun her in his arms, and settled her astride his lap. The thin scrap of nothingness she wore hitched up her thighs, exposing that part of her she’d been touching when she’d said his name, releasing more of that intoxicating scent that reminded him of moon-brandy and burning embers. Her needy moan as she rubbed herself against him almost brought their heady flight to an ignominious end.

Fortunately, though the rise of the drakling spirit in him was undermining his control, it had also given him stamina. The beastliness within him roared again—it would not allow him to expend himself; only she would be granted that privilege.

Who was possessed now?

The coffee was making him breathe too fast, and his mind spun, his vision narrowing to just her. In a drakling’s hunting sight, its chosen prey glowed with an inner fire, and her skin seemed to shimmer with gold, as if she were gilded in kyapa-sho.

She would burn him, outside and in.

And it would be glorious.

His seething breaths heated the air between them, but she didn’t seem to mind. She pressed closer to him, and though her weight was nothing compared to his, the rapture of her proximity undid the last of his constraints.

He let the momentum carry them over backward into the embrace of the bed.

They sprawled across the coverlet that she’d pushed back earlier, still entwined. Somehow, her lips ended up at his temple, and she kissed the edges of his scales gently. “Close your eyes.”

“When I do, I spin,” he admitted.

“I always thought that felt kind of fun. Made me terrible at beer pong though.”

He had no idea what beer pong was, but spinning felt out of control to him. Still, she’d commanded him, so when her fingertips feathered over his brow, he closed his eyes.

“Does it frighten you?” he asked.

“Spinning?”

“The drakling fire in my eyes.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

With his eyes closed, the beast focused on her voice, and the wild urgency eased a bit. “You think a runt is beautiful.”

“You’re not a runt to me.”

“Because you are even smaller.” The drakling growled; it wouldn’t allow anyone to belittle her, not even him.

“Because Team Prism is awesome, not runty.”

He couldn’t hold back a smile, and he let out a soft breath as her finger outlined his upper lip. “Team Prism. An accountant incapacitated by coffee and an abducted closed-worlder who forgot to buy underclothes.”

She plinked her finger under his chin. “I didn’t forget underwear. I’m just…not wearing it right now. And I wasn’t abducted. I decided to join you in this race.”

“Like you decided not to wear underwear,” he said gravely, keeping his eyes closed.

She plinked him again then snuggled against his side. “The caffeine will wear off, and you won’t be incapacitated.”

Did she sound…regretful?

He wanted to explore that possibility—explore her more, since she was so close—but his body suddenly felt too heavy. Her head on his shoulder was as dense as a neutron star, pinning him to the bed. Not that he minded; he never wanted to rise without her.

No, he told the drakling spirit hazily, they didn’t get to claim that, claim her. She was his teammate, not…mate-mate.

The drakling growled again, a clear warning.

The vibration in his bones, added to the spins in his head, made him screw his eyes tighter closed.

But Amy’s feather-light touch was soothing. “One step at a time,” she murmured. “Fake it ‘til we make it.”

He wanted to object. They weren’t fake—yes, the race was, and the crown, and the legend, and everything else.

Not them.

But…what if the drakling left him again as the coffee evaporated from his veins? Just an illusion, like everything else about this concocted “reality”?

“Sleep.” Her voice was softer even than her touch, coming from far away. He wanted to reach for her, hold tight, but between the impossible heaviness of his body and the pleasure of her petting, he didn’t move.

As she commanded, he slept.

***

And woke alone.

Considering that he always woke alone, that should not have bothered him. But this time, it did. The wild spirit inside him was even more incensed.

Hunt her. Take her. Mate her.

Never let her go.

So that answered the question whether his drakling nature would fade along with the coffee. When he’d been a youngling, this moment was all he’d dreamed of. Eventually he’d figured out that dreams didn’t count in life.

The pounding in his heart spread out through his veins as he levered himself up onto one elbow, searching the bedroom with narrowed eyes and other senses. The coverlet thrown over him was still warm on the other side of the bed, and an intriguing scent—her—lingered, so she hadn’t risen long ago.

He tested the strange presence in his skin, in his awareness. He’d never understood how his brothers had talked about the soul of fire and wind that moved in them. Drakling poetry had always struck him as vainglorious and overwrought. Or worse yet, rife with excuses. The beast made me do it.

Now he understood.

Was Amy hiding from him, horrified by his pawing and growling?

The drakling spirit growled back, louder this time.

Luc stuffed it down. This was not part of the race he had planned…

He glanced up a moment before she appeared in the doorway. Somehow he’d known she was coming. Her footsteps, maybe, or an infinitesimal change in the lighting behind her.

Or the drakling hunting its mate.

“Hey,” she said softly. “How you doing?”

For all the quivering sharpness of his senses, he could not translate her diffident tone. “I’m…better. I won’t paw you again or growl at you.”

Within him, the spirit seethed, as if calling out his lie.

“Oh.” With her face in silhouette, her expression was all but invisible. “That’s…better.” After another pause, she stepped forward, holding out a goblet.

He couldn’t restrain a flinch.

“Not coffee,” she said hastily. “Just water with a restorative the computer said was suitable for draklings.”

He didn’t want her to think he blamed her for what happened with the coffee—considering it was his own fault he’d been too distracted by her to pay attention to his consumption…except that still sounded like he was blaming her—so he took the goblet and gulped without hesitation.

The cool tang of the drink filtered through him. Not quite quenching the still smoldering embers of his drakling-induced arousal, but soothing nonetheless.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly as he finished and turned up the lighting. “That is…better.”

She’d taken a step back when she handed him the cup and now she crossed her arms over her chest. She’d changed back into the explorer-worthy outfit she’d purchased, but it was her scowl, now visible in the brighter light, that made her seem most fierce. “Well, great. We’re all better. Just great.”

He eyed her with misgiving. “Why do I get the feeling it is…not great?”

Her arms tightened around herself but she lifted her chin. “You’re making it weird. Just because we…” She flicked out one hand in a vague gesture.

“I kissed you?” He didn’t mean it to sound like a question.

“I kissed you,” she said brusquely. “But it doesn’t have to be weird.”

It hadn’t been weird. Wild, maybe, and wicked, even wrong, but not weird.

“Amy,” he started.

“Also, we entered Yestrian space about fifteen minutes ago.”

“We what?” He jolted up out of the bed. Shock carried him a little farther than he’d expected, and he found himself toe to toe with her. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

She angled her head to look up at him. He’d expected a flinch at least from his abrupt relocation, but she never even blinked. “I just did.”

Calming himself, he settled back on his heels. He was becoming something else, but…so was she. A surge of admiration swelled up behind the simmering desire for her, for a moment eclipsing his lust with a pure wonder. The confused closed-worlder who’d been transported across time and space to be unceremoniously dumped naked on the deck of the Blissed was fading behind this cool, poised explorer, ready for the next step of their race.

He gestured toward the cockpit. “Then let’s go see what’s ahead.”

Her deep, dark eyes glimmered with excitement, brighter than a starry night, and he only hoped the adventure would please her.

And that he would too.