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Except she never did show signs of a “significant ability”, and all her human parents got was a moody teen who took to yelling when her ability to tell a convincing fib went out the window.
It was a small mercy that Millie put her up on a high shelf. If she weren’t able to watch the old cow every day, Charlotte was sure she would have gone insane already.
I went to college and got a degree in communications! I am not cut out for any of this!
“Stop hitting me, little wildcat,” he snapped. “Mates don’t do that.”
Charlotte was woman enough to admit when she’d made a misjudgment. Not aloud, obviously, but within the privacy of her mind? Sure, she could admit it.
Oh, he’s awfully pretty.
“Because you remind me of a firefly. You’re pretty and small and light up the darkness. I want to cup you in my hands and keep you close. Is that so bad?”
“What should I call you, then?” She fiddled with the drawstring of her hoodie, her stomach tightening into a pleasantly anxious little knot the longer she looked at him. “How’s old man sound?”
It was fucking terrifying. It was also incredibly hot.
My mate’s a poisoncraft, he realized. Dom puffed up a little, his spine straightening with no small amount of pride. Hot damn.
He would be damned if he went down in history as the first demon to let his mate suffer alone. Demons didn’t do that. They looked after their mates. No one was more devoted than a demon. No one was more committed to the happiness of a mate than a demon. There were whole folktales written about the lengths a demon would go to please a mate.
She said something, but Dom didn’t want her to whisper it. He wanted to hear her say it. “Louder, glowbug,” he told her. “Tell me what you want.” “Kisses,” she gasped out. “I want kisses.”
Gorgeous, he thought, watching her ride out an orgasm he refused to let die. My mate is so godsdamned beautiful.
She was fierce and fragile and so full of life, he could hardly imagine returning to an existence where she was not the center of his world. He didn’t want to imagine it.
He killed for me. Maybe that thought should have horrified her, but Charlotte couldn’t muster the moral fortitude for it.
“It’s intense. I won’t be able to hold back like I have been. I’ll need to— You know. I’ll need you again and again and again. But… I don’t want to do anything you’ll be uncomfortable with, Charlotte. I can’t hurt you. I won’t.”
Of course, she loved it when Dom touched her. Charlotte had never felt more special than when he spent hours stroking her skin with his fingertips, as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch her. But a girl had certain needs, and when he kept forgoing his turn to be petted and tasted and loved, she grew increasingly exasperated. So it was well past time for her to do a little taking care of her mate.
He’d won his mate, he loved his mate, and he’d be damned before he let himself take her for granted.
But his human didn’t run. Reaching out, she dared to press one soft palm against the thick scales covering his cheek.
She lured me here, he realized, full of wonder as he watched her stand and put out the fire with a bucket of water. He breathed deep one more time, just to assure himself of what he already knew. There were no other scents in the vicinity, old or new. This is her roost. There is no mate to watch over her; no one to protect her. She made her own dragonfire to call me to her side. Artem felt a rattling purr bubble up from the center of his chest as his eyes slid closed. The snarl of instinct smoothed out into a single, perfect thread connecting his heart to hers. She Chose me.
Once a dragon Chose, there was no going back. He couldn’t even imagine it. He didn’t want to. So pretty, he thought, chest expanding with a rush of warmth. So sweet smelling. I can’t wait to find out if she tastes more like oranges or vanilla.
Reaching for the pitcher of water rather than the glass, he turned her name over in his head again and again as he brought it to his lips for a long pull. Paloma Contreras. Dr. Paloma Contreras. Paloma, my mate. Paloma Contreras-Aždaja. My mate, the doctor. It had an awfully nice ring to it.
Artem’s wing stretched out and over her, blocking out the light and ensconcing her in a cocoon of warmth and deliciously scented skin. “There,” he sighed into her hair. “Now I can really sleep.”
So this is bliss, he thought. My mate in my arms, all soft and trusting.
“Pretty Paloma,” he breathed against the skin behind her ear. “So soft for me. So fragile and in need of coddling. Will you let me spoil you, treat?” Artem pressed the pad of his thumb against the plush skin of her bottom lip.
Paloma melted under him, the tension in her spine easing away as he kissed her again and again in the semi-darkness. In between kisses, he murmured sweet things and promises.
He buried his nose in her hair and groaned when she shifted her hips, rolling upwards in a tentative rhythm. She was perfect. Her scent was perfect. Her cunt was perfect. Everything about her was perfect. And she was his.
Magic sang in her veins, crowing a possessive, age old song she’d never heard before: He’s mine.
“I watch people holding hands all the time. I want to do it.” He lifted his chin, adding, “It’s part of my terms.”
“Cal, you’ve been used enough,” she explained, voice hoarse. “I don’t think I can go through with this knowing that I would just be another in a long line of people trying to exploit you.” His eyes narrowed until they were little more than glittering shards of black stone in his silvery face. “I don’t care if you exploit me. I want what you promised.”
Hazel, he thought for the thousandth time. Her eyes are hazel.
Cal hoarded every little thing he knew about Elise with the rabid acquisitiveness of a dragon. If he could have turned what he knew into pearls, he would have kept the color of her eyes, the scent of her hair, the story behind the scar on her knee, and the way she sighed when he kissed her throat in the palm of his hand always.
“I am not her boyfriend,” Cal calmly explained. He didn’t like talking to people, but in this he wanted there to be no confusion or room for doubt. Holding eye contact with her father, he announced, “I am her mate.”
Gods, I love him.
“You’re going to be okay, baby. It’s going to feel like a lot, like you’re going to come apart, but you can trust me. It will be good. If not, we never have to do this again, okay? I’m right here with you.” His fist tightened in her hair. “Do you promise?” Moisture glittered in those pretty hazel eyes. Her smile softened. “Yes, Cal. I promise.”
He dropped to his knees. There was nothing else he could do. His legs certainly wouldn’t support him anymore. He wasn’t even sure they were fully corporeal. Not that he cared. If she asked it of him, he would have even crawled.
“Women are all about being asked, Cal. They are way more forgiving of a stupid question than an assumption. Don’t ever work on assumptions. That way lies sharp claws, poisoned coffee, and nights on the couch.”
“You’re so warm and soft,” he breathed, awed, as he gently rolled her nipples between his fingertips. Elise sucked in deep breath as streaks of pleasure flashed down her spine to settle into a deep pool between her thighs. It was only made richer, sweeter, when he asked, “I get to have you forever?”
“He is Calamity. He is mine. The first time Cal kissed me, I knew it like I knew my magic, my heart, my hands. The kind of knowing that is instinctive and soulful even when it is new and terrifying.” She caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He is mine and I am his. Forever.”
