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He shifted his position, rocking against her, letting her feel his huge, hard cock. Letting her feel his desire.
Rational thought fled her brain, replaced by a foggy craving. With her breasts rubbing his chest, she wanted the secretive Roark more than she had wanted any male in her long life.
But no.
She jolted away from his tempting lips and plundering tongue. “You can’t have me.”
He growled. His gray eyes reflected a flash of light, the color shattering like lightning in a storm, streaking across the sky. She shuddered, jumping off his lap. He was suddenly dangerous, not the jesting, wise-cracking Roark. He was a male no one crossed without consequences. For a moment, the hair on her arms stood upright.
Just as quickly, the insouciant playboy spark returned to his gaze. He shrugged, leaning back on folded arms behind his neck. “Studies show sexual rejection can lead to serious emotional stress and physical complications. Headaches. High blood pressure. Blue balls. I could die if you don’t give me relief. At least a hand job. Resisting me must be hard on your health as well. Your heart is pounding. Your skin has a light sheen on it from perspiration. Your breathing is unsteady. How’s your pussy?”
“It’s just fine, but you’re disgusting. I’ve half a mind to ditch you while I hunt for this sword myself.”
“Play nice. It’s my gig.”
Having seen a flicker of the other side of Roark, she cast a spell to probe his thoughts, find his secrets, an intrusive gesture. Though she had failed earlier attempts, she was persistent.
His brows arched. Her effort to see inside his mind crashed and burned as before. She encountered only darkness. Never had anyone been so resistant. She snarled. Roark was hiding something. She wanted to know what.
“Such a naughty girl, Indy.” He rose from the couch in one fluid motion, grabbing her hand, bringing her wrist to his lips, kissing the tender skin on the inside of it. “Tangling with you exhausts me. Take me to my bed. Tuck me in. Stroke my blue balls to relieve the emotional stress caused by your continued rejection. Or at least read me a bedtime story until I fall asleep. Unfulfilled. Horny.”
“You’re not well, Roark.” She rose, extracted her hand, and spun on her heel. “Take yourself to the bedroom. I’m sure you’ve had lots of females tuck you in. I won’t be one of them.”
His irritating laughter echoed all the way down the hall.
Once they found Blood’s Kiss and turned it over to Kole, she would conjure Oskar to bite off his head. She hoped her gryphon didn’t die from food poisoning.
****
Her father’s house was a piece-of-shit rundown cabin in a remote section of the berserker encampment, hidden by overgrown trees which lined a road filled with potholes. The outside was in worse shape than the last time Galena had visited six months ago. No. Maybe she’d skipped her semi-annual stop-off. Right. It had been closer to nine months. She and her pops were not close. Hell. They were so far apart the Grand Canyon fit between them.
A part of the front porch was collapsed. The faded siding on the cabin needed a fresh coat of paint. Roof shingles had fallen to the ground, likely making for wet times during the rains.
As was often the case with Amazons and berserkers, Galena’s mother and father never mated. The two breeds had commitment issues. They only hooked up to create a kid. She had spent her childhood with her mom in Hippolyte Village, learning archery, the art of spear chucking, and hand-to-hand. The ushe for her breed. Visits to Daddy Dearest were rare and unwelcome.
Her berserker sperm donor suffered one disappointment after another. She was first at bat in his series of failures because she hadn’t been born a male. Next in the lineup was his injury. A lucky sword along with a spell by a warlock severed his leg. Despite the best efforts of healers to reattach it, nothing worked. He refused a desk job, resigning from the Firebrands. Finally, he struck out when he turned to booze. Not any alcohol. No. Her father preferred the strongest brew the demons made. From then on, he grew meaner. Not that he’d ever been particularly pleasant to Galena. She was a female after all.
Sad to say, she hadn’t hit the jackpot in the parents’ department on either side. Her mother, a member of the Amazon War Council, ignored her, shuffling her off to stay with friends, distant relatives, or the group camp. Probably for the best since she avoided catching her mom’s bad habits, like hooking up with assholes or lacking a conscience. At least her father gave her the legacy which got her tapped into the Scion Firebrands by the Phoenix.
Avoiding the nearly collapsed railing, Galena minced up the rickety steps. Despite the caution, her right shitkicker crashed through rotted wood, a jagged edge catching her bare leg. Damn. She should have foregone her usual wardrobe of snug shorts, cropped tee, and spear in a scabbard along her spine. Long cargoes would have prevented the gash. No. She’d rather deal with the injury. Limping, she rattled the screen door with her knuckles. Since nobody answered, she pulled the handle. Unlocked. No surprise.
The dump’s smell hit her first. Smokes. Booze. Stale food. An aversion to soap and water. Next, the sight which would make a junkyard proud. Dirty dishes. Beer bottles. Ashtrays over-crammed with butts. A couch, once patterned, now faded, threadbare-brown, one side sagging, probably from her father’s ass planted on it too many hours each day.
Though her dad’s cabin was far different from Karla’s parlor, Galena was out of place in both. She wasn’t wanted here, and at the witch’s house she had been three thumbs with the china.
Wouldn’t you know, it was her childhood all over again. Never fitting in. Too big, too small, too female, too boyish, too quiet, too noisy.
At least Karla had been polite during the interview about Dolph. Galena doubted she’d get the same treatment from her father.
Yellow specks on the coffee table caught her eye. Bending forward, she dragged a finger through what looked like bad housekeeping. She brought the digit to her nose.
Sniff.
At that moment, dear old Dad shuffled in from the kitchen, an open bottle of beer in hand. “What the fuck? Oh. It’s you.”
He flopped onto the couch, right where his ass had carved out its spot, scratching his belly, his shirt stained with sweat and dirt.
Galena held out her finger. “Gold Dust? You’re using this crap, Ghorr?”
