Unmade (Unborn #4) - Amber Lynn Natusch Page 0,50

by anger and fear, and the ferocity in it was something I could only weather by meeting it with the same desperation—the same intensity—because I felt it just as he did. His near death had changed something inside me; something that even I, in all my evolution, could not identify. It was strong and consuming and fearsome, and it could not be contained.

With a roar that echoed through the room, he lifted me and slammed me down on my back, taking care not to crush my wings in the process. When I attempted to draw them in, he pulled away and growled.

“Leave them,” he said, staring down at me as the dim firelight danced in his eyes. “I want to see them.”

As I forced them to their greatest breadth, his erupted from his naked back and stretched until the tips nearly scraped the walls.

“What else do you want?” I dared to ask, knowing full well that I was fueling his dark fire. The careful shift of my body beneath his only furthered that result. His hand dragged down my chest, hesitating at the waist of my pants. Then the tip of his wing was suddenly there, slicing through the soft fabric of my shirt while he unbuttoned and peeled my leathers away, leaving me bare.

He pulled away to get a better view of all he wished to see. His hand drew a line across my abdomen where a red and raw scar should have been. Then it cupped my breast and held me still.

“I want all of you and nothing less.”

I took his free hand and placed it on my core as I lifted my head off the bed.

“And you will give me the same.” I released his hand and cupped him firmly.

A groan escaped his lips. “Be careful what you ask for, new girl.” His finger slipped inside me, and I stifled a moan. “There won’t be any turning back…”

“I will not need to.”

A menacing smile, tinged with the smug one I had grown to know, flashed across his face.

“That’s what you say now.”

Before I could respond, he shifted down so his mouth could replace his fingers and all reason fled, leaving little more than a writhing ball of need in its wake. A glow overtook the room, and I looked down to find bright white eyes staring back at me, consuming his face as he consumed me. And when I finally broke under his relentless assault, they flared so fiercely that I had to shield mine as my body took on a life all its own.

When the light faded, I opened my eyes to find him climbing up my body, his mission clearly not complete. I spread my legs to allow him in, and he slid into place without slowing his approach.

“All of you, remember?” he said as he pushed in further.

“And you in return,” I replied, grabbing his face to pull it to mine. “No turning back.”

“No turning back,” he murmured against my mouth. “Ever.”

We attacked each other with enough force to shake the very ground that surrounded the Dragon’s lair for what seemed like an eternity, until we both collapsed to the bed, sweat-covered and exhausted. With all the noise we had made, I wondered if everyone else would be equally tired.

As Oz drifted off, I slipped into the shower, then found something clean to wear that had not been shredded to bits by Oz’s wing. It took far more effort than it should have. Then my gaze fell upon the sheets beneath the sleeping Dark One, and I realized that they, too, would need to be replaced.

If we kept up our behavior, I wondered if the Dragon would cast us out for being such inconsiderate guests.

19

“The others told me what happened to Oz. How is he?” the Dragon asked as I stepped into the vast room. He sat alone on a settee by the fire and beckoned me to join him with a wave of his hand. “I promise I won’t bite—I know better than to try.”

His smile was warm and genuine and everything I had learned him to be. So I did as he had requested and perched beside him on the lush burgundy velvet, staring into the fire.

“He is resting.”

The Dragon’s smile widened and his brow quirked. “Sounded like he needs it.”

I ignored the subtext of his comment. “Tell me something, Dragon. Why did you let us stay here? Why did you offer us aid?”

His expression sobered in a second. “I do not