Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

Then she looks up. Straight at me, where I’ve paused mid-step.

The servant passes by me with a half-bow and continues on, his eyes fixed on a paper in his hands—some sort of list.

Serylla follows him with slow, measured steps, her gaze flitting up to mine. She’s so close, and I’m immobilized by her nearness, her soft scent, her breath, the shine of her yellow hair.

Meridian and Kehanal have continued on, oblivious to the fact that I’m no longer behind them.

Serylla is almost past me now, and I reach out, just a little, until the backs of my fingers brush hers when she walks by.

I’m holding my breath. Didn’t realize it until now. I start to exhale—but then a small hand seizes mine, and Serylla tows me into the shortcut passage and shoves me into one of the curtained alcoves. My back thuds against the wall.

She yanks the curtains into place behind us, leaving only a sliver of light leaking through.

Her body collides with mine, her hands finding my face, pulling it down to hers as she rises on tiptoe. Her kiss sears my mouth, the same frantic urgency that throbs in my own heart. I gather her to my chest like an armful of the most precious treasure.

“I had to risk it,” she whispers shakily in the dark. “I couldn’t let you just walk by… after the morning I’ve had…”

I recognize the twinge of pain in her voice. This is more than the distress of last night—this is something new. “What happened? Did Zevin Harlowe come to your room?”

“No, no… whatever your friend Meridian arranged, it worked. He was too drunk to show up, and he has left the palace, probably angrier and more embarrassed than ever. No, this morning was about Rahzien.”

“What did the bastard do?” I ask in a growling whisper. “I swear, Serylla, when this is over I’m going to bite off his limbs one at a time and roast them in front of him—”

Serylla presses harder against me and clamps slender fingers over my mouth.

Someone is approaching our hiding spot.

For once, my dragon hearing failed me, or perhaps I was too immersed in visions of revenge—I didn’t hear the voices until this moment. They sound faintly muffled, like helmeted Vohrainian guards.

“We need to hurry and catch up,” says one of the men. “If anything happens to the Conquered Consort on the way to her room—”

“What’s going to happen?” drawls a second man. “She’s with a servant, and it’s not far. Besides, it’s not like the King would care if she were hurt. You saw what he had Skonn do to her. I thought he’d killed her for sure.”

“At least she gets a healer to fix her up, good as new,” mutters the first man. “I wish the healers for the troops were as good as Lady Cathrain.”

The voices fade, and I pry Serylla’s fingers from my mouth, rage mounting high in my chest. “You were beaten?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“The fuck it doesn’t.”

“The healer fixed me,” she whispers harshly. “I’m fine. Now kiss me.”

Repressing a snarl, I take her mouth, my lips crushing hers.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Harder.”

I pick her up, my hands clasping her rear, and I turn us around so she’s the one being pressed to the wall. She wraps both legs around my waist, grinding her pussy against me through the clothing between us, rubbing urgently against the rigid hardness between my legs.

“I need to get to a meeting,” I murmur, devouring her cheeks and lips with fierce kisses.

“This isn’t the time or place for fucking,” she agrees breathlessly, wrenching at the fastenings of my pants. Her fingers are small, hot, and frantic, digging my cock out of my clothing.

I shove her skirts up her thighs, but her underwear is in my way, so I summon my claws and rip through them. I stuff the lacy remnants in my pocket, and the claws vanish again at a thought from me.

“How did you do that?” she whispers. “And why don’t you have your horns in this form? I forgot to ask last night—”

“Questions later.” I duck my head and trail my tongue up the warm, silken column of her throat. “Fuck now.”