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"What war did your grandfather fight in?"
He closed his eyes and, as if he were reciting a poem, said, "My grandfather fought alongside the Lord of Ice and the men of the north against the fire giants, who were led by Loki and his great wolf child. The frost drove the fire giants back to the depths, out of the Northlands. Then the northern shamans covered the world with a sheet of ice to keep them at bay. By the time the ice age had vanished, the giants had forgotten the battle and were off creating havoc elsewhere."
"This was before the Great Divide?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Long before. We had little keep with—or knowledge of—the Fae back then. The Northlands are a harsh realm, and only your Snow Queen and her Court were able to take refuge there."
Bleakly, I thought that Smoky might yet see a battle to match his grandfather's. If Shadow Wing broke through, we'd be facing the war of all wars. Smoky must have sensed my mood, because he spun me around to face him.
"Enough talk of war and battle and death. Kiss me, Camille."
Shivering, I raised myself on tiptoe and draped my arms around his neck. He caught me up by my waist, lifting me so that we were eye level, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
As I gazed into his face, the tides of time rolled past. His features were frozen forever young, and his skin was as smooth as my own, but his eyes… They were the eyes of a god, the eyes of one almost immortal, the eyes of a dragon. He searched my face, and I leaned in, stomach burning. I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted anyone or anything.
Cold fire sparked between us as he softly bit my lip, worrying it with his perfect teeth. As his tongue gently sought entrance, I opened my mouth ever so slightly, just enough for him to pry his way in. His arms held me fast, so close I could barely tell where he left off and I began.
Shaking in earnest now, I could only close my eyes as the storm bore down, a wave of passion so dark that I didn't even know it existed. Lost in his kiss, I went spiraling under, caught by the riptide, swallowed by the glacial floes that lingered in his aura. He spun me around, his lips never leaving mine, in a dance so old that the Moon Mother herself had witnessed its birth.
As if in a dream, broken images wove together as I let myself flow into our meeting. His lips sought refuge on my neck, my shoulders, across my face, down my breast, and my bustier went flying. Perhaps he'd unlaced it, perhaps I merely wished it off, but my breasts were free, and he lifted his thumb and forefinger to gently caress my nipple, cupping my breast in his palm, squeezing just hard enough to shoot a line of flames to rage between my thighs. And then I was standing again, and his shirt was off, his milky-white skin shimmering in the dim light of the bedchamber.
I pressed my lips to his chest, kissed his heart, let my lips follow down the line leading to the center of that perfect V hidden beneath his jeans.
Head back, he gasped, a kaleidoscope spinning in his dragon's eyes. He lifted me to my feet, gently, and with one hand unzipped my skirt. I fumbled with the snaps on his jeans. As they popped open, I forced myself to breathe.
"Take them off," he said, and his word was my command. I slowly eased the white denim down over his hips, and there, found myself facing his desire, incredibly silken and smooth and…
"Great gods, you have the biggest…" I bit my tongue, not wanting to break the mood, but he laughed and snatched me up, tossing me on the bed. With another laugh, throaty and wild, he pounced, landing beside me on his hands and knees. He stretched out on his side and slid one hand over my breasts. His feral smile made me catch my breath as I caught a glimpse of him in dragon form, mounting a silver dragon. Their bellows ripped through the sky like thunder. Startled, I tried to pull away, but he held me fast.
"Going somewhere, my Witchling?" he whispered, and in a flash he was straddling me, on hands and knees, staring down.
"I… I…" I couldn't speak, for over his shoulder rose the ghostly image of wings and smoke.
"Ssshhh… don't speak," he said, pressing one finger against my lips. "Not a word. Don't move. Let me explore you."
Frozen, I couldn't move, yet every nerve in my body blazed. He leaned down, letting his tongue do the talking, and traced one nipple, tugging at it with his lips, the barest tips of his teeth biting. And then I felt a light finger gliding down my stomach, tripping over the skin, setting off minor explosions with every touch. With a quick brush of his hand, Smoky parted my legs and slid his fingers between my thighs.
I shifted, trying not to focus on where he was headed, yet unable to tear my attention away. A whisper of another touch startled me and, surprised, I glanced to the side. A lock of his silver hair, free and hanging loose to his ankles, had risen like a snake and was caressing my shoulder. To my left, another tendril of silver strands coiled around my nipple, tickling me gently. As other locks wound themselves around my ankles and wrists, pulling my arms and legs wide and holding them taut, he slid his fingers inside me, beckoning me, playing gently against nerves in my body I hadn't known existed.
"Do you like this?" he whispered. "Do you like it when I touch you? Answer me."
"Yes." I gasped, barely able to speak. I felt like I'd been holding my breath for hours. Pent-up, I was poised near the brink, but Smoky wouldn't allow me to fall into the chasm. He pulled back each time right before I neared release. Frustrated and terribly aroused, I tried to clench my thighs together, tried to stem the tide of moisture that his touch had coaxed from deep within me.
"Trying to keep me out?" Smoky asked, leaning between my legs, his hands resting on my bent knees. His hair still held me prisoner. He was primed, ready, and by the musky fragrance that cloaked his body, I could smell just how much he wanted me. "Too late to turn back, Camille."
"No, no… I don't want you to stop… I just… please…" I shivered, praying he wouldn't stop.
"What? Say it." He leaned down to kiss my lips. "Ask me, and I'll give you everything."
A moan slid out of my throat. I needed him in me; I ached for the feel of his body pressed into mine. A hunger rose up, so fierce it threatened to overwhelm me. "Inside, please. I need you. I need you—fuck me."
"No."
"What?" I looked at him. After all this, was he just going to tease me, to toy with me? Dragons could be cruel, that I knew, but surely he wouldn't leave me hurting, aching. "Don't you want me?" Tears welled up in my eyes, and I struggled against the manacles of silver hair.
"Oh, I want you, Camille, make no mistake about that. And I always get what I want." He smiled then, so softly it frightened me. The smile of killers, of kings, of dark knights who rode in and lured away the princess from her prince. "But no, I will not fuck you. I leave that to Trillian. However, I will make love to you."
The cloud of tears threatened to spill over as I quivered, needing him so desperately I wanted to scream. I let out a choked cry.
