Malin landed a moment later, feet silent on the earth as he walked towards Surah, ignoring the body on the ground.

He cupped her cheek. “Are you upset I killed your husband?”

“Someone has jokes since he won a fight.”

He grinned, fangs peeking out and for a moment he looked just like Geza. She grimaced. “I wonder if the serum has gone to your head.”

He sobered. “We’ll have to talk about that, my love, but later.” He glanced at Kausar. “I’m taking her home, and then we’ll speak.”

Kausar nodded.

“What do you want done with the body?” Niko asked.

“Drop it on Lavinia Mogren’s threshold. And find me the officiant who married them–bring him—”

“Her,” Surah said.

“Bring her to Geza and report. I’ll follow after I’ve seen to my mate.”

Malin sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around Surah. She wound her arms around his neck, snuggling flush against his chest and tilted her head back as he lifted off. This was as close as she would ever get to flying, held fast in her mate’s arms, the wind sharp on her skin. What she wouldn’t give for her own wings, to feel the power and exhilaration of flight.

The stress of the last several hours hit her in a rush. Now that she was safe, now that she was on her way home, her body went limp.

She buried her face in his neck. “Malin.”

Her breasts smashed against his rock hard chest, the warmth of him, the life pulsing through his veins, and as he flew...her body woke, desire kindling and she wanted him, desperately. And didn’t want to wait.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, his arms flexible steel around her. The powerful thrusts of his wings carried them higher and higher in the air. Overhead the moon shone, a full, orb of life-giving light. She reached between their bodies, blood boiling, and slid her hand inside his pants.

“Surah, what the hell are you doing?” he growled.

“Mate with me the way gargoyles do,” she said, and unsnapped the trousers unzipping him to free his cock.

It was a testament to his control and strength that they didn’t go tumbling out of the night sky. He was in her hand, thick and pulsing with heat. Smooth as silk, hard as stone. She lifted her hips, tugging her skirt up around her waist, positioning herself and used the spongy head of his cock to push aside her panties.

Then she impaled herself, sliding down his length with a cry the wind whipped from her throat. She was gargoyle enough the thin, cool air didn’t affect her the way it would a full-blooded human. She fucked him, eyes closed, pillowed in his arms, pillowed by the wind, her pleasure mounting with each stroke.

The wind changed and she knew they were downtown, Malin descending until she felt the soft jar of feet touching ground.

“Now,” he said, voice soft.

She opened her eyes. His face was drawn taut and he braced himself, feet far apart, grabbing her hips and taking control of the thrusts. He moved her hips at the pace he desired, spearing her body with a force he’d never shown before. She bit her lip, the strangled moans caught in her throat because she didn’t have breath.

His wings flared out, the snap of leather sharp in her ears, blocking out the light, a snarl on his lips. He lowered her to the ground, eyes on her neck.

“Good thing this place is covered in grass,” she muttered. Or else her back might get a bruising.

He ignored her, still lodged deep in her pussy, and placed hands on her chest, bunching fabric between his fingers and ripping the dress down the middle, tossing it aside as she shrieked.

“Do you know how much that cost?”

But he refused to let her speak, pulling out of her body and flipping her over, drawing her hips up so her ass was in the air, her thighs wide apart. He nudged her entrance, then slid home. And fucked her as if he’d completely forgotten his worry that she wasn’t quite strong enough to take all of his strength.

“You wore it when he wed you,” he said. “It will be scraps when I’m done with it.”

“Mature,” she gasped.

He pinched her buttock and it was the thing that sent her over the edge. She screamed, the orgasm bursting deep in her body and rippling through her core. He gave one final thrust and bathed her pussy in hot seed. Surah giggled. Sending little soldiers to keep the tiny egg company.

Her giggle turned into an uncontrollable laugh.

“Surah? What’s wrong with you?”

He pulled out of her body, Surah gasping again because, damn, he’d pounded the living hell out of her and drew up her up, cradling her against his chest.

“You’re hysterical,” he said. “It’s fine. You’ve been through an ordeal.” His hands roved up and down her torso, more soothing than sexual, one settling over her mound in a possessive gesture that was probably involuntary, but maybe not.

“I should have had them dump the body at Geza’s feet in court,” he said. “To show what happens when a male touches what belongs to me.”

She rolled her eyes, laughter quieting. “Okay, Mal. Can we get something to eat before we go to court? I’m starving.”

Malin fed her, but they couldn’t stay to themselves for long. After a light meal–well, mostly dessert–Surah insisted they use an airtran to fly.

“I know you feel strong, Mal,” she said. “But we don’t know when the effects of the serum will wear off.”

“What if it’s permanent? I’ve felt like this for weeks.”

She scowled. She didn’t like that he hadn’t told her—that messed with her research, made it harder to pinpoint the exact time the new effects began kicking in. She needed that kind of data, but Malin thought it was okay to just—

“I can see you ranting in your head,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “Transport. You can show off how big and strong and manly you are later. Once I’ve run some tests.”

He shrugged, a testament to his good mood that he gave in and they boarded an airtran. She missed being cradled in his arms, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

They arrived at the compound and set down near the training yard. Warriors descended from the sky immediately–males in Geza’s colors.

“Prince Malin, we’re ordered to escort you to Prince Geza immediately.”

He nodded and they were surrounded by a guard. Malin seized her around the waist as everyone took off. No gargoyle would make the walk inside, trap him or herself inside an elevator when they could just fly the short distance to the landing balcony at the very top.

Though Geza’s formal throne room was on the ground floor, he spent most of his time in the open air ballroom attached to his suite. When they landed, Surah stiffened. Geza stood in the middle of the room, a blade in his hand. Lavinia Mogren knelt at his feet, back ramrod straight, a special vest binding both her arms and her wings. Surah felt Malin stiffen subtly at the sight–involuntary sympathy–then relax.

“Nice you could join us,” Geza said. He glanced at Surah, a single encompassing look that raked her from head to toe. “And my sister looks fine for having been kidnapped and wed without my permission. My sister.”

It was typical of a gargoyle to be more upset over the lack of permission from him, rather than her lack of consent. Her eyes narrowed.

“And I’m certain she wasn’t happy about it either,” he added, not looking at her. Then sighed. “Or my brother. Did I forget to tell you your nephew is dead, Mogren?”

Lavinia said nothing. Geza kicked her knee. “I’m talking to you!”

“Calm,” Malin murmured, taking Surah’s hand and drawing her near. “The anger of a Prince should be cold.”

It was a testament to how disturbed Geza was that he didn’t snap at Malin for correcting him in public. Or maybe he was growing up.

“I should just execute you and be done with,” Geza said to Lavinia. “You must be desperate to hatch a stupid plan like that and then leave it in the hands of morons.”

“Uthman was your friend,” Mogren said.

“Which makes it even worse! Who can I trust? My own brother thinks to unseat me–the friends I bring to my table betray me for power. And you–you were supposed to be my Councilor, but you’re as rotten as the rest of them.”

This was devolving rapidly into another rant. Surah stepped forward. “Move her trial date up, Geza. You can execute her now, but that will anger the highborn families who want to see due process of one of their own–even though we already know she’s guilty.”

Geza looked around the room. His various warriors and friends of the court were gathered, silently watching. “Trial?”

There were a few murmurs, several nods. Geza growled, sheathing his sword. “This is so anti-climactic. It should be like in the good old days–off with her head and throw the wingless corpse off the tower.”

Surah suppressed a gag. It must be the pregnancy.

“Are you sick?” her brother asked. “Someone get her a bucket.”