the comet gone, his desire had only seemed to increase as of late. He’d mentioned a change to her scent—that it had become somehow sweeter, fuller, and impossibly more alluring, heightening his want and possessiveness of her. He worshipped her and dominated her in equal parts, his actions strong, firm, and decisive, and frequently went out of his way to ensure her pleasure above his own. That air of ferocity he’d taken on during the Heat had never quite faded.
Leyloni didn’t mind; she loved his savage side and relished the thrill it sparked within her.
She thought back to how he’d woken her that morning, just before the dawn—with his head buried between her thighs and his tongue thrusting into her sex. He’d withdrawn his tongue as she’d roused, using its forked tips to tease her pleasure bud. He’d coaxed her essence from her and drank ravenously, unable to get enough. She had come three times, each climax more powerful than the last, before Arysteon positioned himself over her and plunged his cock into her sex, staking his claim on her again and again. In the heat of his passion, he’d clamped his teeth down on her shoulder, leaving a mark.
The flash of pain had only enhanced her pleasure, and her body had reacted, exploding in a torrent of ecstasy that had left her beyond speech or thought. For those moments, there was only Arysteon and Leyloni alone in all existence, there was only the song made by their bond, rising to create something magical and unbreakable.
Her sex clenched at the memory, slicking her inner thighs. She reached up to touch the tender bite marks on her shoulder.
A breeze blew in from behind her, and Arysteon tensed, his tail flicking before he turned and met her gaze. His nostrils flared and his tongue lashed out to taste the air. Heat burned in Leyloni’s core. She knew it was her he was tasting. His eyes shifted to her shoulder—to her hand upon the bite marks—and his gaze darkened with hunger.
“Leyloni,” he growled. His tongue slipped out again.
She dropped her hand, trailing it down her front, and he followed it with his eyes. Leyloni blushed as she caught the hem of her skirt and eased it just a little higher, her own eyes trained on Arysteon’s slit as it bulged and parted. “Serek is bound to grow tired soon en—”
“Do not move,” a female commanded from somewhere ahead.
Before Leyloni could register what was happening, Arysteon was in motion, his scales a teal blur. He snatched Serek off the ground, deposited the baby in her arms, and positioned himself between them and the newcomer, teeth bared and claws at the ready.
Six women, all dressed in leathers and furs, stepped out from the nearby tree cover, four wielding spears and two with bows and arrows. Their weapons were all aimed at Arysteon.
Leyloni’s heart skipped a beat before recognition struck her. The straight, thick white lines of paint marking the women’s cheeks and foreheads were just like those she’d seen on the traders who’d visited her village years before. Traders from the Snow Tree tribe.
She pushed forward to stand in front of Arysteon. “You are Snow Trees, yes? I am Leyloni, daughter of Sahara and Havil of the Moss tribe. We come seeking refuge. Please, lower your weapons.”
Arysteon growled and grasped her shoulder, pulling her back. “Behind me, Leyloni.”
She tried to shrug off his hand, but he was too strong, and within a moment he was before her again, shielding her with his big, powerful body. The females that were still in Leyloni’s view shied back slightly, keeping their weapons raised and their eyes wary.
One of the women stepped forward, her brows hard set. “What is this beast that walks and talks like a man?”
Leyloni forced herself to Arysteon’s side, angling Serek away from the weapons, and met the woman’s gaze. “His name is Arysteon, and he is a dragon.” She raised her chin. “He is also my mate.”
The woman’s eyes flared wide, and her companions gasped collectively.
“A dragon?” another woman asked.
“They are real?” said a third.
The woman who’d spoken first narrowed her eyes. “The stories do speak of dragons turning into human men…”
“He is not a human man”—one of the females lowered her spear and eased closer, her gaze intent upon Arysteon—“but he is male.”
Leyloni narrowed her eyes at the woman and was unable to hold in a growl.
“Is it true?” the first woman asked Arysteon. “You are a dragon?”
“I am,” Arysteon replied, a rough