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She rumbled out a husky laugh that sent
another pulse through him. “I believe I owed you at least one after the way I
welcomed you to my bedchamber.”

He touched his tongue to her flesh and
shuddered with ecstasy. Water on her shining womanly form could cause him to
commit another
devalki
. One small
taste was worth eternal punishment. He licked and sucked her neck and the
swells of her breasts—carefully avoiding the marks on each that gleamed in his
mind’s eye of her Reds.

She gave a tug on his hair, drawing his
gaze up to hers. “If you’re that thirsty, let me—”

“Thirsty only for you.”

He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth
and sank his teeth hard, just shy of breaking the skin to taste copper on his
tongue. He felt the pain of his teeth in her bond, and the immediate rush of
molten need. His dragon thrashed to the surface of his body. Wings stretched
within him, claws clicking against his ribcage.

Drawing back, he tugged her lip in his
teeth until she cried out and then he released her. She searched his gaze, her
eyes wide and dark, her mouth so lush he wanted to swallow her whole. No kiss
from him would be safe, though, no matter how much he burned to drink from the
moonlit power that welled within her. He could not risk giving her any of his
own Black that might stain those holy waters.

She knew his dragon paced the surface,
and he didn’t attempt to hide the violence rolling within him. Despite the
spilling of his seed, tension still hummed in his body. The fight to remain in
control of his dragon long enough to make love to her would be the greatest
Dance of his life, and he knew her all too well to make the mistake of assuming
she would make that battle easier for him. She would stir his lust and fire
like no other and demand he still find a way to control it.

“If you change your mind, I understand.
You’ve already given me more joy in these few hours than in all my lifetimes.”
The dragon howled and raked claws down his spine so viciously he couldn’t
completely hide the stiffening of pain. “Do so now before it’s too late. Once I
begin, if you need me to stop, tell your Red to kill me. Nothing else will
bring me under control.”

“Dharman.”

“Aye,” the Red replied, his voice flat,
whether with jealousy or concern, Mykal didn’t know him well enough to discern.
Both guards had climbed out of the well and stood close enough to kill him
between one heartbeat and the next.

“You are First. If you feel I’m truly in
danger—”

“Aye.” No emotion burned in his voice,
simply the bare promise of death. “I shall kill him.”

Relief filled Mykal, quelling some of
the dragon’s rage. He met the Red’s blazing gaze, and with two fingers of his
right hand, he touched the tattoos beneath his eyes, his heart, and rolled his
wrist, palm up, to point at Dharman, silently pledging allegiance of both heart
and tribe.

“Now,” she let her gaze wander across
Mykal’s chest to his shoulder, lingering on the puncture wound she’d given him,
“where’s your oil?”

He pressed the amber bottle into her
hand, followed by a small square of cloth. “I have wounds. Will you tend them?”

Carefully, she uncorked the vial. His
scent curled through the air, stirring them both to greater heat. She breathed
deeply and a tremor shook her body. Her skin shimmered, the scars in her body
brightening with the light of the moon, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was
too busy trying to distract herself with questions. “What is this made of?”

He waited, barely breathing, while she upturned
the vial onto the cloth, set the vial aside, and lifted the cloth toward his
shoulder. “Do you really want to know?”

She touched it and fire exploded in the
wound. He couldn’t help but suck in his breath, hold it a moment, and then let
the air out noisily.

“Sorry.”

He shook his head, a smile quirking his
lips. “Your touch stirs my Fire, brightheart. The pain is nothing. Each warrior
blends his own oil with an aroma he finds pleasing. Some use herbs, others use
oils from foreign lands, and very few use no scent except what the original
dragon infused.”

She lifted the cloth from his wound and
her breath sighed out. Touching his flesh lightly, she whispered, “I burned
you.”

“Dragon oil burns, but without blood,
it’s merely arousing. With blood, it blends with my Fire and ignites to
cauterize wounds. In a land of little water, severe injury leads to blood loss,
and fluids cannot easily be replenished. It’s better to burn the wound shut
than bleed out.”

“You smell…” She rubbed her face against
his neck and down his shoulder. “So good. Is it you, or the oil?”

“Both.” Deliberately, he shifted his
wounded shoulder to rub oil against her. He took the cloth from her and swept
it down his neck and arm, across his chest, down his belly. Fire pulsed in his
body, dragon wings sweeping through a night sky. “This scent sang to me, so I
used it. You sing to me, and so I give my oil to you as well. That you hear its
melody tells me more than anything that we should wallow and rut on each other
as long as possible, for time is my enemy.”

I
have a purpose.
The thought ripped his heart out of his
chest and left him gasping for breath, dying, bleeding beneath a new moon.

Her mouth firmed into a hard slant.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to die.”

She jerked the cloth out of his hand and
dumped more oil on it. A great deal more. Yet it was her lips she put to the
next wound, not the cloth. Her teeth dug at his skin, her tongue sliding over
his flesh until he wanted to pin her beneath him and spill oil from head to
toe.

“I’ve had enough of death. Besides, you
seem to live forever.”

He shuddered. If she only knew how many
times, in countless violent painful ways, he’d died.

“We waited too long.” Sighing, she
pulled back and stroked the cloth over the wound. More oil leaked into his
body, pumping through his bloodstream. “These wounds have all closed.”

“Then you had best make new ones.”

* * *

SANDALWOOD ROASTED BY THE HEAT of the
desert filled the air. Every breath seemed to burn through her body, melting
her bones, firing her blood until she wanted to throw her head back and roar.
Or better yet, she’d bite him over and over until not an inch of his flesh
remained unmarked.

“Do so,” he whispered, lying back. “My
heart beats for you.”

Strengthening her resolve, she stroked
the cloth over his skin until he was slick and glistening. His head rolled back
and forth restlessly, his fingers clenching and releasing fists at his side,
and his bond...

Lady above, the dragon screamed at her,
spiraling higher and higher in a black velvet sky devoid of stars or moon.

“Taste me,” he urged. “Eat me alive.”

Closing her eyes, she fought to control
the need. His suggestions certainly weren’t helping. So far, not much of the
oil had gotten on her, but his scent inflamed her. She wanted to rub herself on
him, coat herself in his scent, his oil, fill her mouth and her body with his
flesh, and devour him whole.

Her skin felt too tight. Her nerves
jangled painfully, the beat of his heart a thunder in her head, his scent a
lure that she couldn’t resist. What would his blood do to her?

The Silver Lake shone in her mind.
Mirrored waters rippled. A shape rose closer to the surface.

She bent to look into the water, and the
White Dragon surged out, crystal waters cascading rainbows all about her. It
snagged her in its jaws and flung gleaming white scales and wings into the
night sky.

Mykal groaned and buried his hands in
her hair. The taste of his blood rocketed through her. She didn’t even remember
biting him. Sandalwood-spiced blood fed the dragon and powered the strokes of
her powerful wings. Oil sizzled on her skin. She rubbed her face, neck, and
breasts against him. His scent burned into her body, his blood a feast. She bit
him again, not to mark him, but simply for the pleasure of having him in her
mouth.

Far, far away in the distant night sky,
the Black Dragon sent a ground-rumbling bass call to her White.

Fly
,
he whispered.
Soar to me.

She bit Mykal again and again, gripping
his flesh in her teeth, filling her mouth with sandalwood and dragon musk. His
blood smeared with the oil, searing the burn even higher, but she couldn’t
stop. She straddled his stomach and threw back her head on a long, shaking cry
as oil burned deeper.

“Wallow,” he growled. “I want my scent
on every inch of your body.”

Stretching out on him, she rubbed her
stomach against his and wriggled lower, biting as she went. She licked the
pearly mark she’d put in his groin and left another bleeding ring in his thigh.

“I said
wallow
.” He twisted her hair, drawing her over on her back.
Thrashing, she cried out, blood and oil searing her flesh. The mark in her
buttock felt like a red-hot branding iron blistered her skin. “
Iyeh
, that mark knows I want to taste
it.”

He rolled so hard and fast the air
slammed out of her. Dazed, she instinctively tried to fight him off. The White
Dragon clawed inside her, furious that the Black had thrown her, but he
wouldn’t be denied. He pinned her flat with a hand behind her head and the
weight of his shoulders against her thighs.

“What a beauty,” he purred, rubbing his
cheek against the old scar in her buttock. “Who gave this to you? Your young
Red?”

“Nay,” Dharman replied, his voice soft
but his tone ringing. “If it were my mark, my
rahke
would be in your heart.”

“My Khul.” Lady above, he was heavy and
strong. Her ribs ached. “Get off me, Mykal.”

“Make me.” He swiped his tongue over the
scar and she twitched, struggling helplessly beneath him. “Did you mark the
horse king the same way?”

“Yes.” Irritated, she tried to push him
away with jealousy. “As I did Gregar and Sal.”

He laughed and gripped her teasingly.
“Ah, you like a man’s backside.”

“Only truly remarkable ones,” she threw
back at him.

“Now, now, there’s no need to insult
your First Red. I’m sure he’s not pleased that you find him lacking.”

She tried to kick the bastard but she
couldn't get her heel back far enough. “I never said such a thing!”

“Then why doesn’t he wear your mark on
his buttock? Is he that unremarkable? He looks big enough to impress you, but
then again, looks are often deceiving.”

Fury darkened the Silver Lake inside
her. “Don’t try to make him jealous. I love him without question.”

“I know, brightheart.” The sudden
despair and longing that ached in his voice filled her eyes with tears. “You
can’t help but love him.”

When he sank his teeth hard into that
muscle, her emotions crashed from sympathy back to rage.
Vulkar damn him, I
told him no blood!

Twisting in his grip, she swiped at his
throat. Blood welled in vicious stripes across his neck and shoulder. Her nails
glistened, long and curved like dragon talons.

“Dharman!” She screamed. “I killed him!”

Chuckling, Mykal rubbed his throat
against her hip and waist. Blood blazed with oil, a wildfire of need that
spiraled higher. “You can tear me up, bite me, claw me with these delightful
talons, and my dragon will howl with pleasure.”

He pushed up enough to allow her to
fully roll over. Shaking, she touched the deep furrows she’d left in his
throat. His skin appeared darker and thicker. Beneath her fingertips, she felt
tiny patterns.

Scales.

They armored his throat, sprinkled
across his chest and shoulders, and grew heavier down his forearms to his
hands. Exactly as in her dream. They looked like tattoos, but she could feel
the rigidity in his flesh.

“Unleash your darkest needs upon me,
brightheart.” His eyes flashed molten silver, his voice hissing with the
undertones of dragon. He shook his head, slinging droplets of blood like rain
across her chest and stomach. “You can’t hurt me.”

He dropped his weight against her and
set her flesh on fire with oil mixed with his blood. Howling, she fought,
clawing and writhing to escape the flames.

Dharman’s bond vibrated with tension.
:
Na’lanna
.:

Her lungs burned, sweat dripped into her
eyes, and she swore each drop of blood had charred her flesh. No wonder he was
concerned.
:No.:

Mykal slithered down her body. He snaked
his arms beneath her hips, locked his hands together around her stomach, and
dragged her lower body up toward his mouth. “Now I quench the thirst of a
thousand years.”

Trembling, she braced for his teeth, but
he barely touched his tongue to her, lightly and reverently lapping at the well
of her body. His shoulders pressed her legs back against her stomach. Doubled
over with his weight bearing down on her, she could barely breathe. The
whisper-soft strokes of his tongue incensed her. She snarled at him, kicked her
legs higher to press tighter against his mouth, but he refused to deepen the
caress. She raked her claws down his arms and flanks.