The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (18 page)

Joarr. He’d come like she’d known he would. He tilted to the side so her feet landed on his wing. She grabbed ahold of the ridge of hard scales that ran down his spine and pulled herself atop him. Then a leg on each side, her arms wrapped around his neck, she leaned down and pressed her face against his scales.

She’d known he would save her, and he had.

Amma had never trusted in anyone or anything.

And then, with little thought, she’d stepped off a ledge and fallen, known the dragon would catch her.

Her world was turned upside down.

* * *

Joarr flew up, then down—shrieked his outrage as he did. He’d seen the dwarf with his blade at Amma’s throat and felt fear like he had never felt before.

Dragons didn’t fear. Dragons had nothing to fear. But Amma was a witch, not dragon, and it had been too easy to imagine what would happen if she fell, how her body would look lying broken on the concrete floor.

He’d shifted before he’d seen the rest, before Amma had attacked the dwarf and actually fallen. He’d already been in the air, winging toward her.

He’d chosen to take a modified form so he could take wing, not simply fill the building with his mass. And now he didn’t want to shift back. He wanted to fly farther and faster, steal the witch away and keep her safe, forget the dwarves, the Ormar and the chalice. Forget why he couldn’t do such a thing, why he would have to shift back and then, when this adventure was over, walk away.

Chapter 17

F
afnir’s heart leaped to his throat. His pulse pounded so hard in his ears he couldn’t hear the terrified screams of the crowd packed into Tunnels. Didn’t see them rushing toward the exits or diving behind the bar.

In his world at that moment there was no chaos. There was nothing except the dragon.

A dragon, in dragon form, soaring through his club.

Fafnir had never seen anything so majestic.

His mouth watered.

His fingers were wrapped around the wrist of the dwarf beside him—the dwarf who had been assigned to watch the dragon as he came through the portal and deliver Fafnir’s message, the dwarf who had lost his quarry, who, until seconds before, Fafnir had intended to skewer like the worthless chicken he was.

But then the dragon had appeared.

The dwarf jerked, tried to follow the others and dive for cover. Fafnir squeezed his wrist harder.

“He’s here,” he murmured. “Where did he come from?”

The dwarf struggled. Fafnir, his gaze never leaving the dragon, raised his ax and held it to the other male’s throat. “See what you almost cost me?”

The dwarf didn’t reply. Fafnir didn’t bother glancing at him to see his reaction. The spy had failed; he was lucky to be alive.

“The woman, is she the one you told me about? The one who came through the portal, too?”

The dwarf didn’t move or make a sound.

Grinding his teeth, Fafnir lowered his ax, but only a hair. “Answer.”

“Looks like her.”

“Hmm. He seems fond of her—to reveal himself like this he’d have to be.” Fafnir mulled the thought around. “What’s her story? What is she?”

“Don’t know.”

The dragon swooped low. The dwarf Fafnir held trembled.

Fafnir lowered his ax and swung it at his side. He could throw the weapon, wound the beast, but he’d still have to collect the blood. Two teams had already failed at that assignment. Time for a new tactic—put away the hammer and use a more delicate approach.

“She was with Regin. He won’t talk to me, but he might to you…or one of your females.” He prodded the dwarf in the gut with the handle of his ax. “Set it up. Find out whatever you can about this woman.”

The dwarf nodded and started to move. Fafnir jerked him back. “And when the dragon leaves here, have him followed. Pick someone good. If you lose him…” He let the threat hang. The dwarf knew what would happen. Fafnir was tired of waiting. If he couldn’t have dragon blood, he just might have to try dwarf next.

He watched the dwarf scurry toward the exit. Most of the club’s clientele had left by now or were hidden out of sight. A few dark elves lurked in the shadows, their gazes locked on the dragon. They appreciated what was happening, but were smart enough to know the danger, too.

Dragons were rare, almost a thing of legend.

Fafnir envied their stares, couldn’t wait until he could shift, too, become the mighty flying beast. Would he be silver like this male or some other color—perhaps copper like the veins of metal that ran through his father’s cavern in Nidavellir?

The dragon shrieked again. The woman who clung to his back seemed to be whispering to him, calming him. His flight slowed, became more of a glide. Ropes hung from his wings where he had flown through them, the sharp edges of his scales slicing them free of their moorings. He tossed his head and a flame flickered in his throat.

Unable to move, Fafnir stood his ground. The dragon could have torched the building around him and the dwarf would have been unable to move. He shifted his hold on his ax, tempted again to fling the thing, but there were still witnesses and the dragon was already on alert.

He had to wait, to be smart.

He lowered the ax to his side and stepped back, into the shadows where the dark elves watched.

The dragon circled once more, then landed softly with only a whisper of sound.

In this form he wouldn’t fit through the doors. Fafnir held his breath, hoping the forandre would shift, that he would get a look at the dragon’s other form.

A flicker, like a light with a short losing and regaining power, then the dragon was gone—the giant silver beast was gone, anyway. In his place stood a man dressed all in white and in his arms was the woman.

Fafnir froze. His heart thumped. He memorized every nuance of their appearances. They wouldn’t slip by him again.

* * *

Joarr didn’t let Amma down, not at first; he couldn’t. And she clung to him, too, just as she had clung to him in his dragon form as he had circled the interior of the club.

A rope was tangled around his leg; he shook it free.

“Fafnir was here, watching,” Amma murmured.

Joarr glanced around. He didn’t see the dwarf now. There were a few shadows behind the bar and cowering behind the stalagmites. “If he’s here, he’s hiding,” he replied.

“He’s seen us now. There’s no hiding who we are.”

Joarr shrugged. He didn’t care about the dwarf or the chalice right then; he only cared about Amma. He walked toward the exit.

* * *

Back at the hotel, Amma and Joarr didn’t bother with words; words were unnecessary and might bring up issues Amma didn’t want to deal with. Instead as soon as the door closed behind them they began undressing each other slowly…lovingly. Their affair might be temporary, but while it lasted, Amma had decided to participate in it fully—emotionally and physically.

They sat on the bed. Amma knelt with her bare feet tucked under her butt. Joarr sat beside her, his body twisted so one foot was on the floor and the other was curled under him, but his torso was facing her.

Joarr pushed Amma’s blouse up over her head first. She let it fall onto the bed beside them and shook out her hair. The muscles of her shoulders and neck were tight, as if she was still holding the tension she’d felt while standing on that board considering how far she had to fall. She rolled her head to one side and then the other, her hair brushing over her back as she did.

Joarr watched, but said nothing, didn’t make a move to hurry her, either.

Her hands on her thighs, she arched her back and stretched again. Her breasts pushed together, threatened to spill out of her lacy bra. Joarr’s attention focused on them; she could feel anticipation building inside him.

She rolled her neck again, took her time enjoying the blue blaze of his eyes. Then her head back upright, she leaned forward and tugged his shirt up and off. She ran her palms over his chest. His skin was smooth and warm; the muscle beneath couldn’t be missed. She rose on her knees and trailed her tongue down his pectoral muscles. He tasted of smoke, as if he’d been standing beside a wood fire.

She pulled back, but his hands caught the waist of her jeans. He slipped the button free, and pulled down the zipper. Her panties, what there was of them, matched her bra. He tugged the denim down her hips; she wiggled, willing them to fall lower. He pressed a kiss to her breast and she wrapped her hands around his head, moaned as he used his lips to shove her bra aside and lave his tongue over her nipple.

She reached for his pants and unhooked them in a quick, easy movement. He helped, jerking them from his body and tossing the expensive wool onto the floor. She shoved him back so he fell against the mattress. Still in her bra and panties, she crawled up his body, her hair hanging over one shoulder, sweeping over his skin.

He was completely naked now, while she was still somewhat clothed. It made her feel stronger, as if she was in charge. She lowered her butt and brushed the rough lace over his swollen sex. Straddling him, she lowered her mouth back to his chest and nibbled her way down from his pectorals, to his abs…lower still.

His skin was even warmer now, his heat flowing. She traced her fingers over his shaft, wanted desperately to share their magic, but wouldn’t yet, wouldn’t deny herself the pleasure of being in control. She darted her tongue over him. His fingers curled into the cover beneath him. Her fingers were on his stomach; she felt his abs tighten.

She laughed and flicked her tongue out again. The taste…smoke and spice. She opened her mouth and slipped her lips over the tip of his shaft, down then back up. Her fingers found his balls. She weighed them lightly then rolled them back and forth as if they were made of crystal.

His lower back left the mattress.

She swirled her tongue over his tip, her fingers continuing to caress his sacs.

He bent forward, placed his hands under her arms and pulled her up flush against his body. Within seconds, she was naked, too, her matching bra and panties tossed on the floor, forgotten.

Her breasts were heavy, her core wet. She hadn’t realized how much excitement touching him could bring her.

He thrust a finger inside her; she tightened. He pulled it out and found her nub. He swirled his finger over it. She tensed, her hands against his chest, and cried out. She pulled her legs up, positioning herself to take him inside her.

She rose up, her weight on her hands, and stared down at him.

His eyes were alight with blue flames. There was fire inside her, too. She ached with it, burned to let it free.

He rubbed his sex over hers, finding the place where she so needed him to be.

Then in one quick plunge of her hips she encased him.

Fire raced through her. She could feel it pouring through her, couldn’t tell anymore if it was from her or from him. It just was a part of them both.

Magic roared from her palms into his body; heat swirled around them. It was as if she was inside a tornado of fire and magic. Her skin tingled; sweat beaded on her body and Joarr’s.

She pulled herself up then shoved herself back down. Joarr’s hands found her breasts; he held her there, massaging and lifting, helping her with the movement of their bodies. Up and down she moved. Her body tightened around his; his hands squeezed her breasts.

She grabbed his wrists, holding his hands against her while using his strength to increase their pace. Her thighs began to shake, the muscles screaming while her mind screamed for more.

Panting, she threw back her head. Fire flickered from inside her. Joarr had leaned forward. His mouth on her nipple, he missed the explosion of flame, but must have felt the heat. He looked up and Amma snapped her lips shut.

Witches didn’t breathe fire. Something was happening—something strange and terrifying.

His hands moved to cup her butt. His fingers touched her as she moved. A jolt of pleasure shot through her. She gasped, pulling in air instead of shooting it out. No fire. No smoke. She held her breath or tried to.

He touched her again and her body began to shake, her core to tighten over and over. Spasms of pleasure she couldn’t slow buffeted over her. She wrapped her hands around his head and held him against her, then tilted her head to the ceiling and shot pure, hot fire from her throat.