Flux of Skin Read online

  Dragon paced in the large shed over the room, which did nothing to calm Ladon. Rysa would have touched their connection, willed them peace, but she felt too tired.

  She closed her eyes.

  When she opened them again, the woman with the ponytail was cutting Ladon’s t-shirt off his shoulder. A massive and ugly bruise darkened his side under the shoulder with the bite.

  He hurt because of her. Dragon hurt as well, more from his continued fatigue than any wounds—fatigue he’d accumulated because of her. She needed to heal them both but she hurt too, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to tell whose pain she fixed. The thought of using her abilities weighed on her as if the rubble of her life had buried her arms, her legs, her torso. She closed her eyes once more.

  The lights were low when she opened them again, and another bed blocked her view of the door. Derek slept across from her with his own beeping machines and his own IV snaking across his bed.

  She’d heal him, too. As soon as she felt up to it.

  The hallway outside her room was empty but AnnaBelinda and Ladon stood on the threshold, their heads close together. Rysa suspected if it’d been daytime the dragon woman would have been yelling. Ladon responded, his voice also constrained to nighttime quiet.

  She heard words about Derek and IVs and injuries. About angels and about how finding an RV big enough to transport two dragons was almost impossible now. Then she heard references to a woman with a name that sounded like “Vivian,” except Ladon and AnnaBelinda kept referring to her as a “he.”

  “He” would show up, and soon. Then they spoke about tactics and strategies and how these Shifters wouldn’t dare attack a hospital. Too many normals around.

  Rysa’s seers buzzed but she burned and it felt almost as if Burner venom infected her mind. But she knew what was happening inside her body—active Fate and active Shifter were not supposed to mix. When they did, the halfsie melted away. Died.

  Vanished forever from the world.

  Consequences blipped through her mind. What would happen to Ladon and Dragon if she liquefied like the Wicked Witch of the West? Her head filled with images of a place far away and a time long ago, including an image that should have been too far gone for her past-seer to pick up, yet flickered anyway—a woman’s smoldering corpse hanging from the parapets of a castle. Ladon, dirty and bellowing and swinging a sword in each hand. Dragon, black and evil and blazing death.

  What happened once would happen again.

  AnnaBelinda stalked out of the room. Sister-Dragon disappeared from the energy flowing down from the roof, leaving only one desperate dragon above Rysa’s head.

  Ladon stepped around Derek’s bed and pulled the chair to Rysa’s head. His fingers glided over her arm, her shoulder, her cheek. He touched her forehead and kissed the mask over her face as if he kissed her mouth.

  “Sister and Sister-Dragon are patrolling.”

  Rysa’s hand should have moved without jerking, but her fingers pattered against his cheek no matter how she tried to calmly touch his skin.

  He closed his eyes and held her palm to his lips. The machines hissed and clicked but he didn’t let go.

  Don’t leave, she thought.

  An image appeared in her mind, real and strong and as soft as the tight weave of a fine velvet—roses, deeply colored as a rich sunset, their scent clear and brilliant. Their petals stroked her skin and dew from their leaves touched her lips, alive and fresh.

  I love you, too, Dragon, she thought. I love both of you.

  Ladon laid his hand on her chest, between her breasts, over her heart. A very slight, almost-imperceptible tremble moved from his fingers to her body—and from above as well, from Dragon.

  Ladon couldn’t tell if she was okay—he saw the machines and heard her breathing but he couldn’t feel.

  Slowly, she moved away on the bed. She’d make as much room as possible. Come here, she signed, pointing at the mattress.

  He pursed his lips and glanced at the door.

  Come here, she signed again. She didn’t care if the nurses got mad.

  He slipped off his boots, not looking at his feet or the door or anything other than her face. When he glided his hand over hers, she wove her fingers into his and tugged him close. Careful of her IV, he crawled onto the bed.

  He settled, touching and learning and pressing the entire length of his body against hers. But the tremble resurfaced. He held it in, kept it small and controlled like a man with his strength was supposed to, but she still felt it. She laid her head on his good shoulder, twisting so as not to dislodge her mask, and wrapped her arms around his chest. She couldn’t heal his wounds, but she’d give him all the comfort she could muster.

  He kissed the top of her head. “We will not leave you.” She barely heard his whisper.

  No, they wouldn’t.

  His lips lingered against her hair. She had to believe that they’d get her through this.

  Chapter Nine

  They slept enmeshed. He warmed her already overheated skin but she curled around him anyway. Ladon refused to let her go.

  She needed him. Needed the rhythms of his body and the buffer he’d become between her and all the terrible stimuli of the world. Some women could shut it out on their own. Some women, like his love, needed support. The terrible world might tell her she was bad for needing help—that she shouldn’t need anyone—but she did.

  Her cheek lay on his shoulder, her forehead against his neck. The edge of the oxygen mask bit into his skin but he did not move or adjust his position. She’d found what she needed—to be pressed against his side, in full contact, her chest moving in sync with his.

  He’d changed his breaths, increasing their frequency to match what he remembered of her natural state. Anxiety had crept back in as a result. But a whisper from Dragon calmed his mind. You make your body mimic what it does when the fury starts, Human. But your increased respiration is the rate Rysa needs to stay alive. Feel her thanks.

  So he concentrated on their connection, caressing it the way she often caressed his mind.

  As he fell into a fitful sleep, one delineated by the clockwork of nurses and the machine precision of beeping instruments, Ladon’s body read hers. She stabilized, and so did he. She righted, and his world righted with her.

  Because she was the world he wanted.

  On the edge of his dreams, from the wonder of his memory, their time in the RV before the attack returned. He held it as close to his chest as he held Rysa. Vivid and new, fresh and true, Ladon remembered….

  They shared stories, Rysa of her life growing up with her mother, Ladon of his work and of the cave—things he knew interested her. When she dozed between him and the beast, exhausted from the fight in Salt Lake City, Ladon dozed with her.

  Something soft rubbed against his thighs. Sleep vanished into the glory of a woman—his woman—straddling his hips, the heat of her body poised over his groin. Her scent stroked his mind. Her sweet breath tickled his neck. Perfect breasts pressed against his chest.

  She threaded her hands under his t-shirt and her fingers tickled the muscles of his abdomen and chest.

  Ladon opened his eyes. Rysa balanced carefully above him, chewing on her lip. The wheels of the RV bumped along I-80, but he paid no mind because his woman’s eyes dilated and her hips swayed against his.

  “Why did you put on that shirt?” She grinned and rubbed her hands across his abdomen once again.

  He ripped off the shirt, careful of the bite on his shoulder.

  Her fingers traced the little trail of body hair descending from his navel to his groin. She stopped, chewing harder on her lip, and stared at his stomach as if she couldn’t decide whether to move her hand up or down.

  Down. He willed the word at her, hoping her connection to Dragon would pick up this one image. He pressed his hips up, grinning like a fool, to accent his desire.

  He could wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life. Spend every hour of the day or night wit
h her like this, watching her beautiful face concentrate as she explored. He was new to her, and, he suspected, different from that boy who hurt her, and the joy she felt learning his body made him feel joyful as well.

  When they returned to the cave and they were alone, he’d do the same. Give back to her all the happiness she gave both him and the beast.

  “We’re going to have to shave that.” She moved her hand up, but she smirked like she knew exactly what he wanted.

  “Shave what?”

  “Where my asshat cousin nicked off your chest hair.”

  He squirmed when she ran a finger over the bare patch. “Why?”

  Rysa chewed her lip again. “It’ll grow back weird.”

  He wiggled his hips against hers and tucked his hands behind his head. “I don’t like shaving my chest.”

  “So it grows like that?” She traced the edges of his remaining chest hair.

  Her breasts thrust out in a way that said touch me. It took all his effort to keep his fingers laced.

  “You had a Shifter healer do something, didn’t you? No man’s that perfect without intervention.” Both hands ran over his chest again.

  “So I need intervention to be perfect?” He flexed his biceps. A small, measured flex, the perfect amount to tempt Rysa closer.

  If she bit her lip any harder she’d puncture it. And if her nipples hardened any more they’d puncture right through the cartoon character on her chest.

  He rubbed against her warmth again, though he might just sit up and have himself a good nip.

  He shrugged instead, and flexed again. “Only along the sides. She cleaned it up.”

  “So you admit it.”

  Rysa glanced over her shoulder. The curtain blocked her view of the front of the RV but he knew what she was thinking, even without Dragon’s interpretation.

  The beast stretched, lazy like a cat, his bulk evenly distributed over the vehicle’s rear double-axle. He pulsed something to his sister, who lay just as lazily on the other side of the curtain. Ladon felt the beasts erect one of their mental walls—something they did when they wanted privacy but were physically too close together for it to happen on its own.

  Ladon grinned. Thank you, he pushed.

  Dragon didn’t answer and instead nuzzled Rysa’s cheek. She stroked his snout, and her hips swayed against Ladon’s in rhythm with her hand.

  “Sister hired her.” Ladon rolled the words off his tongue, his voice deep, and accented with a few gentle upward thrusts.

  “Oh.” More lip-biting. “Does Derek look as good as you?”

  Why would she want to know that? Ladon frowned.

  “Will I get to look at perfect man symmetry? I suspect I will.” She glanced over her shoulder again even though the beasts had given them solitude. “But I suppose the two of you will expect woman symmetry.” She cupped her breasts, frowning down at them. “Mine are bigger.”

  What little remaining softness he had vanished. She grinned as he sat up and snaked his hand under her shirt and over her breast. Rubbing her nipple elicited a breathy stutter.

  He yanked on the fabric with his other hand so he could have a good view of his work. “Are you always going to tease me this way?”

  She curled her arms around his head and wove her fingers into his hair. “Three times.”

  His lips met hers. She tasted as exquisite as she felt. He’d have the damned sweats off her hips before she landed on the pillows. “Hmm?”

  “We’ve had sex three times.” Hungry kisses moved from his temple to his cheek.

  Three times was not nearly enough. Not by a long shot. Ladon moved to take those hungry kisses but she pulled back.

  “You’ve been gentle.”

  Gentle? “Kiss me.” Gentle was the farthest thing from his mind.

  Two fingers lay over his lips and she shook her head. “I know why.”

  “What?” He pumped against her through their clothes. “I don’t have to be.” He pushed a hand down into her sweats and cupped her backside. Firm and rounded exactly the way he liked it—smooth and tight—she’d be glorious when he bent her over Dragon’s forelimb. “I can be precisely not gentle.” He’d hold her down and make her scream.

  “You’re gentle because you love me.”

  He stopped, his hand halfway around her hip and his mouth consuming the delicate skin of her throat. He hadn’t thought about it. But she was right—he’d been careful, cautious even. Nothing demanding, no requests, just their time together making love. Even when she was overwhelmed and determined to run away and he felt so angry he could have punched holes in the wall. Every single touch had been to show her how he and the beast felt.

  He kissed her, the gentleness returning. He loved all of her—the wonder of her body and the youth of her mind. Her intelligence. Her caring soul. Even the unpredictability of her attention.

  “I never expected this,” she whispered. “Even when I knew it would happen, I didn’t expect you to care so much.” Her lips parted and her tongue traced his teeth.

  He leaned into her, devouring slowly, making sure that for once in her life, someone put her first.

  She is your mate, Human.

  The beast nuzzled Rysa’s side and she leaned into his head, kissing his eye ridge. “I love you too, you big lug.”

  Ladon watched their exchange. Yes, he pushed back. His mate. Now and forever.

  “Hmm. No rumbling, gorgeous.” Her fingers trailed over his shoulder. “I’ll be so embarrassed I won’t be able to look at Anna or Derek for a decade.”

  He laid her down against Dragon’s side as he stripped her sweats down her legs. “Then no screaming from you, beautiful.”

  He didn’t wait. Not this time. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  “I can be quiet. I’ve spent time in a dorm—ah.” Her pleasure flitted from her voice to his ear as he moved into her.

  He thrust hard. “Mine,” he growled, a bit of jealousy he hadn’t realized he’d held because another man—that boy—had touched his woman.

  No one touched his woman.

  Her eyes opened, her bliss curling up with a wave of surprise. He stopped moving. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured. It hit him hard, even buried in her. What if—

  “Hey.” Her fingers gripped the muscles of his backside. “Mine.”

  He took in the sincerity in her eyes, along the curve of her lips, in the set of her cheeks. Yes, hers. “For the rest of your life,” he whispered, his intent strong with purpose, his sudden fears melting away. This, now, with her—this was for the rest of her life. For the rest of his. This was right. This was permanent.

  She pulled him closer, kissing him deeply, and he dropped into her. All of him—mind, body, and soul. Misplaced doubts washed away. Worries evaporated. Dragon’s energy cocooned them all, and for this time they loved unconcerned and together.

  When her breath stuttered one last time, when his body responded fully and he lost all sense of himself, her legs curled around his. Her sweats coiled around her calf and the fabric twisted around his, binding them together. Her heel rested in the hollow on the side of his ankle. She pressed—a gentle pressure—and new waves of ecstasy flowed to his core and chest. His mind fought reintegration, refusing to let his calm drain away. It continued to flood his mind, a sheen of beauty submerging the world, and made his limbs weak.

  Ladon’s weight pressed down on her, but she only drew him closer.

  “I don’t want to squish you,” he murmured. His good arm held him up. The hand of the other cupped her thigh. He gripped her hamstring just above her knee and she responded, her other heel pressing deeper into his ankle.

  He trailed kisses along the delicate part of her neck, just under her earlobe. A shudder rippled through her body when he nipped her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his head and the tips of her fingers wove into his hair. Against his ribs, her breasts and nipples tightened. Her exquisite hips rocked, one more time, against his.

  “You’
re not squishing me.” Rysa stroked his chin.

  Her emotions showed with clear precision in the tilt of her lips and the joy in her eyes. He felt them in the deep rhythm of her breathing. They curled around him in gentle surges and he tasted them with each kiss.

  Finally, after all they’d been through, he’d given her what he’d promised.

  Her seers stroked the edges of his mind, a symphony made richer by the healing touch of her hands. The dangers of their past fell away. The future might bring more horrors, but he didn’t care. The present, now, held them entwined.

  Her kisses moved from his bottom lip, to his top, to the tip of his nose, and he smiled, shifting his weight again.

  She held him tighter. Her palm trailed across his lower back and pressed into the small hollow at the base of his spine, tilting his hips and gently, slowly, moving him deeper. The bliss warmed and a charge of renewed desire coursed through his belly. The thumps of the RV’s tires vanished. The grumble of the motor faded away. He knew only the texture of her skin and the brilliant openness he’d only experienced when in her arms.

  Her voice whispered through his present and into his future. “And you never will.”

  It had never been like this with any other woman. Never this strong. In all his time and here, now, he’d found everything he needed. Just her. Only her.

  The flowing harmony of her future-seer touched his mind again. She looked forward, into what-will-be. “I will always love you.”

  She caressed his back and wiggled and he kissed her with all the need she’d awakened in him. He had thought it withered and dead, but his body remembered all that had been uprooted from his soul. She fixed his world. Gave him nutrients and water and care and now her brilliant light. He’d become everything she needed.

  Ladon bent his arm under her hips as he kissed her again. “I love you.” Another kiss. “We love you.” The rumble rolled from his chest, deep and intense.