He reaches for my body wash, a simple shea butter, but I take his hand. “Enough. I get it. You respect me and my body, and all that ancient stuff.” I smile, but his lips remain slightly parted, almost expressionless if it weren’t for the fiery desire in his eyes. I run my hands down from his shoulders, making a path over every exquisite curve and ridge, the chiseled tone of his power; so dangerous, so lethal, yet so tender and loving. Making my way to the waist of his shorts, tugging them down, a small hiss escapes as his eyes close. “You’re overdressed, Theo.” There was certainly nothing running wild in my imagination last night, exaggerating what I felt pressed against me. “I know they say big things come in small packages, but I’m not so sure that is fitting in this small package,” I say, gesturing to myself.
The most appealingly wicked expression flits across his features before he replies quite seriously, “I suppose I will have to work a bit of personal magic then.”
Shorts on the floor, his fingers are in my hair as one hand glides down my back, guiding me when he steps toward the wall of the shower, pressing me against it, mouth on mine not nearly long enough, then my dragon works a deliberate path downward. I run my fingers through his jet-black, wet hair, ensuring he stays near, sighing in delight as his hand slips down from my hair along my breast, thumb teasing at one nipple, mouth and blunt teeth on the other side, enticing soft moans as his hand continues further.
A fingertip ghosts too gently over me, teasing, the heat of his skin radiating, meeting the ever-growing heat of my desire for him, my need for him. He finally touches me, pushes upward, into me, and I inhale, sharp, between clenched teeth. Theo’s lips return to mine, mouth capturing his name from my tongue as I release it in a half-strangled plea for more, but he doesn’t need to hear. He knows, moving faster with a sensual roughness, curling his finger, the pressure kindling an inferno that’s barely contained. “I want to taste you, Cait.”
I don’t have time to argue, his tongue trailing a fiery path along my belly, lower, further, and he lifts a leg over his strong shoulder as I moan at the sudden emptiness before his finger is replaced with the hot, wet, soft sensation of his tongue delving into me, hungrily, like a man starved, desires unfulfilled. My body instinctively responds to his touch, his every move, arching into him, wanting, needy, desperately feeling the urge to combust at any moment.
With me safely steadied by one capable arm at my back, he’s merciless in his intent, rousing the flames within me until I’m incoherent, knowing I’m screaming out to him, for him, calling his name, and he’s there, in me, on me, lips meeting mine again. With some unknown strength of my own, I keep my arms around his neck, maintaining a death grip on Theo as my entire body shudders against him, around his, buried deep inside mine, thrusting slowly, rhythmically, continuing the waves crashing over me.
“Cait,” he whispers, “are you alright?” The words are tender, full of concern, full of love, and I hold him tighter.
“Don’t stop.” I barely speak. “I need you.” I can’t explain how much so, how much this is what I’ve always needed, always wanted.
And he doesn’t stop, picking up the pace, passionate yet gentle, though his hold on my thigh tightens to match my own aggressive tangling of legs around him as the calming waters rebuild into a torrential storm once again. Little of what he speaks into my ear is coherent or even English, his voice strained, sounding like some sacred prayer in the sincerity of the words, in their tender, fluent prose. Soon I lose track of listening, responding only to sensation, giving in to the release, the cataclysmic fall off the edge of a burning cliff in Theo’s arms, finding he’s there with me, vaguely registering my name in the litany of words spoken in languages I don’t understand amidst a roaring growl of primal satisfaction.
*Theo*
I hold her in my arms, pulling her away from the cold tiles, keeping her warm, our bodies together. “Cait, you are mine… forever.” Even as I say the words, I know they are not as true as I wish they were. Too many paths lead to any one destiny. She can still change her mind. There are many reasons Dante is the better choice for her, but Cait will always be my ward, and after this, I could never betray her for the arms of another woman regardless of the decision made.
She tightens her arms around my neck, rubbing her nose against my chest. “And you’re mine too, Theo. I don’t believe in the whole ‘women are property’ thing unless it works both ways.”
Laughing, I kiss the top of her head. “Yes. I am always yours. Always.” My vivacious Cait has no idea how many dragons will swear their loyalty to the one with her destiny, a destiny in a future not so far away, but I will always be hers, the only dragon belonging solely to her, the only one to love her, though she will undoubtedly be beloved in some ways by many.
Silence falls between us, and I listen to the steadiness of her breathing, feeling her heart beating, its pace slowing as she relaxes in my arms. I daresay there is nothing about our relationship that is not thoroughly enjoyable or quite amusing; Cait is enthralling even in her confounding, bewildering, and often frustrating ways, but this—this is what I desire with her as well: a quiet intimacy not shared with another in my existence.
A sound catches my attention, and a low growl slips out in annoyance. “What?” Her eyelids hang heavy, her voice sleepy.
“There’s someone coming up the elevator.” I do not want to let her go. “Corrin’s retinue left a few hours ago. No one should return this early. Take your time, and get dressed.” Unwillingly, I set her on her feet, kissing her lips, wishing it would remove the disapproval from Cait’s face. “I’ll deal with them and prepare you something to eat. I’m sure you’ve worked up a ravenous appetite,” I tease, hoping to relieve some of her displeasure.
“From the expression you’re wearing, I’m betting they’re going to wish I bought a big ‘Beware of Dragon’ sign for this apartment’s door,” she teases back, shutting off the water before reaching up and grabbing me by the hair, demanding another kiss.
I step out, taking a towel off the rack for her, wishing I had time to dry her myself, then wrap another around my waist, not caring I’m still dripping wet, my natural high body temperature drying me faster. “I do believe you’re correct.”
“Try not to kill anyone before breakfast, Theo.” Her playful voice calls after me as I stalk off into the bedroom.
“Not making promises I cannot guarantee I will keep, Cait.”
“You should have called ahead. Miss Hayden is rather indisposed at the moment, and I doubt you want to disturb Theo.” Claaron’s brusquely speaking with someone, a scent familiar to me, but until I enter the living room, I don’t recognize it, my mind too focused on Cait.
“Cedric.” My greeting is more of a growl, a hand holding the towel as I run fingers through my drenched hair, shaking it out a bit. “You best not be here regarding your son.” There is no personal distaste on my part for the clan’s patriarch, a man of his word and good honor, but I have my limits.
“Theo, I wish to speak with Miss Hayden, to appeal to her humanity, her compassion, and to the generosity she was so willing to show Corrin yesterday.” His tone is gentle, pleading, and too reminiscent of the woman I’d far rather be with at the moment. Alone. With a glare, I turn and walk away toward the hall. “Where are you going? Will you allow me to speak with her?”
“I am going to find clothes… and perhaps gain some measure of patience. I seem short on both.” A glare and a growl quiet further questions. “As for Cait, I will discuss it with her. Wait here. You will be informed of her decision. Claaron, keep our guest occupied until I return.”
Behind me, I hear the dark chuckle of my old friend and dear brother, a reminder of how uncomfortable he has made Cedric in the past in their few encounters. Given the nature of the vampire’s interruption, I do not care today.
Chapter 11
*Theo*
“If you have everything under control here, perhaps I’ll go stretch my wings a bit.” Claaron glances behind
me at Cedric, sitting solemnly at the breakfast bar as I fry bacon and scramble eggs for Cait.
I nod, not needing his assistance. This will go far smoother without his agitation of the situation, making the vampire uncomfortable and riling up my ward during an already tense conversation. “Just don’t be harassing any boaters in the harbor.”
A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he hands me the bagel popped up in the toaster. “Theo…” With a laugh, the response goes unfinished, and Claaron leaves the kitchen, heading directly out from the balcony.
“Will your Graywyne brother be staying long?”
Turning the heat down on the stove, I face him. “Cedric, we have known each other quite a long time without the slightest ill will between us; however, given the current circumstances, I will not discuss matters pertaining to Cait’s security with you.”
Bowing his head, the clan’s patriarch offers a respectful apology. “Of course. Please forgive me. Centuries of your loyalty lends reasonable credence to my difficulty adjusting, finding we now stand on opposing sides. You understand, do you not?”
“This is not about opposing sides. Surely, a vampire your age understands… surely, is familiar enough with who we are and the duties we fulfill.”
Cedric grimaces. “Yet you see fit to sleep with your ward, complicating matters when she must choose a suitable husband.” Muscles tensing, I lean back, gripping the counter, avoiding lunging at him. “Certainly you are aware our culture deems a young woman such as Miss Hayden fit to wed a demigod… or a king,” he adds carefully. “You said yourself she is akin to a noble lady, Theo. When has it ever been appropriate for dragons to marry the likes of a fair-born lady without just cause for her protection?”
I turn away, preferring to scramble eggs than face how correct he is. Claaron had far better reason than want and desire, or even love. Cait’s safety would not be at risk with Dante. “I cannot deny her free will, Cedric.” There is nothing more to say on the subject. What is done is done.
“But do you unduly influence her?”
Closing my eyes, I breathe in, deep and filling, leaving no room for anger, letting it out at a measured pace, and bringing some peace of mind. But the soft click of heels on the bamboo floor tears at my calm as Cait climbs into a seat beside Cedric.
“Good morning, Lord Master Corrigan. How are you today?” Her casual tone widens the small distance in the kitchen, as though everything that happened between us before is now forgotten, set aside, meaningless.
“Please, dear, call me Cedric, as I said upon our previous meeting. I see no need to uphold such formalities.” Kind voice lilting in that damnably pleasant Gaelic accent, the vampire sounds every ounce the genuine and friendly man he is.
“Oh, really? I understood it when you were concocting the whole plan to marry me off to your son, but don’t you think it’s a bit inappropriate now? You know, with me realizing Corrin’s exactly the twisted sycophant I took him for in the first place.”
Cedric remains quiet for a moment. “I’ve come to ask your forgiveness of my son’s shortcomings. Place the blame on me, Miss Hayden, and my own failings as a father, but please…”
I glance over my shoulder and see his hand over his face, regaining composure; he’s a rarity of his kind, showing the emotion he does, and appearing not to lack all aspects of humanity—the most valuable traits in Cedric and Evan that both Dante and I see.
Compassion. A declining emotion among the human race.
“Why are you here, Cedric?” She gives him no time to recover, to finish.
“I do not wish to see my son die.” His answer is simple, honest, and I place her breakfast on a plate, serving it as I watch her hold his gaze warily.
Cait is not foolish, yet her own selflessness may be her downfall. “I tried to help him. You know what he did to me?” She’s quiet in her question, a father’s pain overriding her inclination toward cutting sarcasm.
“Yes. I am aware he hurt you.” Eyes downcast, even Cedric cannot excuse Corrin’s behavior. “Despite the extent to which he has displeased you, Corrin still holds affection for you. This is quite remarkably unlike him, giving me great hope that he can be saved, but such a feat requires your forgiveness, your willingness to allow my son a second chance.” Hesitant, he reaches out, touching her arm gently, meeting her eyes again. “I beg this of you, Miss Hayden. No father could stand idle and watch his child die, most certainly not one who has borne the responsibility and harbored a love for such a troubled boy as we walked this earth together for nearly two and half millennia. Please take my plea to heart. Give it due consideration at the very least.”
Cait looks up at me for a moment, and I can see the ache in her heart, the same kindness that drove her to allow the king to feed from her yesterday. “I will think about it, Cedric, but I can’t say.… You may be asking too much of anyone.”
The droning hum of the elevator catches my attention, but I sense the arriving visitor before the car comes to a stop. Heading for the door, I don’t explain why, and Cait doesn’t ask.
I’m waiting outside the elevator doors the second they open. “Brother, what brings you here?”
Clifford holds up a bouquet of red roses too large to ignore and a gift box. I scowl.
“Apparently, I’m playing delivery boy for the king.” A dour expression worn on his face, he glances past me into the apartment, shaking his head. “Theo, I cannot speak with Oliver regarding this. I fear I no longer…” Halting, his jaw clenches, wary.
“I assure confidence when we speak, Clifford. Fear not betrayal among brothers.”
“My loyalty to the king feels tenuous at best. After last night, I… I find myself quite drawn to protect Miss Hayden, fearing for her safety more so than for Corrin’s. Can it be that her destiny rises above that of the king, pulling more than just you to her?” His brows knit in worry, always concerned with Oliver’s opinion of him.
“Indeed. Her destiny will call Dracopraesi from multiple houses, not only those of Pendragon.” Gesturing into the penthouse, I expect him to enter, yet he remains rooted in the hall. “If you are unsure, call Agtos for further guidance.” It is understandable that Clifford should fear Oliver would advise him to remain with the king, and that I would say the opposite.
“Of course. Will you permit me personal delivery of these to Miss Hayden?” he asks, peeking past me again then meeting my eyes. “I’ve not yet had the opportunity to properly meet her.”
Smiling at his uncontained eagerness, I step back, welcoming my brother in a wide, sweeping gesture. “I have no doubt Cait will be glad to meet you, brother; however, I do not believe the gifts you bear will be so well received. Do not take anything she says to heart.” With Cait hopping off her seat already in a huff, fair warning seems justified.
“Theo, what the hell is this?”
I grimace, seeing the vampire join her, standing at Cait’s side. “This would be a delivery to you.”
Far too anxious, considering he is a dragon, Clifford steps forward, bowing with due respect. “Lady Hayden, may I present this gift from the king… as a token of his affections.”
With great restraint, I maintain no noticeable reaction to the appalled expression on Cait’s face. “Lady Hayden? You must be kidding.”
My brother stumbles for a proper response, and Cedric steps forward, swiveling on his heel to face my ward, holding a hand out to her. She glowers before accepting.
Cedric Corrigan carries himself with grace, dignity, elegance, and the three thousand years of patience a being should garner in such an existence as his. Her hand in his grasp, he bows to her with the deep, formal bow of the old royal courts. “I believe you misunderstand the message relayed and the wishes of my son, which denote the standing you bear, and Corrin’s acknowledgement of your status within his kingdom. Please…” He pauses, gaze meaningful, pleading. “Accept this honor in the manner intended, milady.”
The myriad of Cait’s preferred responses read as printed wor
ds on her face, but she refrains, executing a well-practiced curtsy instead and nodding. “Thank you, Cedric. Please convey my appreciation of the honor to your son.” She’s biting her tongue, keeping it in check.
“Most certainly. Shall I put these in water for you?”
Cait gawks for a split second before recovering. “I have no idea where a vase might be.”
“Have no worries. I’m quite familiar with my father’s home. When he’s not off studying one thing or another, he often keeps fresh flowers here.”
Stunned, she simply nods, allowing him to walk away with the bouquet, and if it were anyone other than Cedric Corrigan, I would think he did not realize he let our world’s most guarded secret slip in his nonchalance. However, I am sure Dante spoke with him regarding his feelings for Cait, and Cedric has his own desire to see her with Corrin. One way or another, the demigod’s sole, known, surviving vampire progeny believes she would have reason to learn of their relationship while becoming part of the family.
Clifford clears his throat, holding the gift box in a formal presentation to Cait. “Lady Hayden, King Corrin sends this with his warmest regards.”
She eyes it, unmoving. Stiff, unwilling fingers grasp the box with all the caution of someone approaching a rattlesnake, untying the ribbon as if disarming an explosive device, lifting the lid to find a velvet case inside. “Oh, he cannot be serious. Theo, look at this.” She shrieks, patience exhausted, temper volatile, gesturing in a wild fury. “He is out of his mind. What kind of crazed bullshit half-baked idea is this? Who does this?”