Sanctuary With Kings (Tempting Monsters, #3)

by Kathryn Moon

My eyes stung and my throat tightened and my chest was sore. I wanted to bite at Asterion's warm, soft skin, to tear my way inside of him, as if I m...

His chest rolled beneath me, another massive inhale and rushing exhale that warmed my left shoulder and cascaded down my back. Clarity was brief and sweet—Asterion would not hurt me. I thought I might...

Asterion's skin was warm against my tongue, the velvety bristles of his fur pricking in one direction, silk in another, and suddenly I realized I was kissing his throat, sucking his flesh. Asterion's chest swelled for a moment, his arm squeezing, and then a long and rough groan melted into my ear. "We should—I should—" Asterion's breaths came quicker, and with them the néktar, sweet and syrupy, gathering on my tongue and sliding down to coat my cavernous hunger. I thought his stuttering words would call a stop to my feasting on his skin, but now that I was drinking him down I couldn't bear the thought of going hungry again.

I sat up only to take his face back in my hands, turn his mouth to mine, and nibble my way across his full bottom lip, an amused puff of breath stroking over my cheeks in my path. I reached the left corner, and Asterion's horns thunked against the back of the carriage as he pulled away, but when he leaned forward again, it was to press his mouth to my throat, tongue snaking out and caressing over my pulse, down into the crooked collar of my dress. The néktar was so heady it made me dizzy, swaying into his arms, arching into his tongue. His pleasure at holding me, tasting me; my own at the slick, hot swipe of his tongue, the pressure of his thickening cock between my legs. I shivered and he nuzzled into my shoulder.

"Be careful," Conall said with the rare solemnity I'd seen so little of from him. His hand was bloodied, but it didn't stop him from wrapping it around the back of my neck and drawing me closer, his lips pressing to my forehead.

"Are these woods enchanted?" "The castle was built with stones from the fae realms, and its inhabitants are collectors, and… Well, you'll see. A little magic soaks into the woods," Asterion said.

It was a monster and a man, with golden wings and russet feathers and hair, and what looked like twin orbs of fire staring out at us. He was dressed in old-fashioned clothing, better suited to centuries ago, before I'd been captured by Birsha, and he wore no shoes on his large furred feet, white claws piercing the earth as he watched us. A tail whipped slowly behind them, three long, bronzed feathers undulating in the air. When the stone walls of the castle gates were close enough to block out the dawn, I realized this monster didn't have fire for eyes, only a prim pair of golden spectacles on his distinguished hooked nose that reflected the light of his torch. "He isn't ready. I told you it would take more time," the creature called to us.

Asterion didn't answer, just continued our shuffle until we had to stop, blocked from crossing under the broad stone archway. "Laszlo Bladewing, allow me to introduce Evanthia," Asterion said, his words heavy and his body hunched and tired. "Daughter of Hedone. Evanthia, this is the Western King of the Clouds." A gryphon, I realized, my slow and sluggish thought piecing his details together.

The castle was broad walls and round columns of mortared stone. Long windows tapered to peaks stacked high, and a few small nests rested in their corners, birds already crying at dawn. High grass lawns and overrun gardens stretched out at either side of the gravel drive, and I turned to stare at a distant pack of animals grazing in the grasses. Sheep and goats, I realized blearily.

Asterion managed to scoop me up, and I groaned and wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, too relieved to protest when he didn't set me down. I didn't mind being carried in this particular pair of strong arms.

I'd expected the castle to be as bare inside as it was out, but the walls were cluttered with tapestries and fine, mismatched furniture was arranged in an almost cramped fashion. Collectors, Asterion had called the residents of this castle, and so it was obvious—collections from all eras and histories of time, precious and strange items on every surface.

Warm muscle spread beneath me, strong fingers digging into my back, down to my ass, to my spread thighs. I squirmed and found pressure between my legs, thick and dense. Sound rumbled under my cheek, and a wave of néktar washed over my weak body, soaking into my skin and offering just enough strength for me to chase more. My lips parted on a pant as I started to rock, my brow furrowing at the sore burn in my thighs, but there was another heat in my core, sweeter and sustaining, and I craved the offering from the latter. Hands squeezed the flesh of my ass and I whimpered, using their strength to push down harder against the muffled ridge pressed into my core. They released me and traveled upward, and I gasped, finding flesh at my lips, bristled fur, and a long tendon of muscle. Asterion.

He didn't lift my skirt, didn't bare my sex to his eyes and cock. He didn't use his weight to pin me down, but his hips sank beautifully against mine, the fine silk a kiss of a barrier between us. And when he surged, I moaned, my eyes falling shut and muscles surrendering gratefully. He ground his cock into my sex, groaned with me at the friction, at how quickly the silk grew damp and clung to our skin. His lips pressed to my forehead and I reached up to his waist, guided him closer, noted how the tip of his cock pooled slippery heat onto my belly. My body would strain to take him, the massive length and girth of his monstrous cock, although my mother's gifts offered strange secrets in that regard.

I kissed Asterion's throat, sucked his skin, and reveled in the wave of pleasure. A dense weight of warm flesh was pressing between my thighs, against the cheeks of my ass, and it swelled and tightened. His balls, I realized, and he was growing close to his finish. I wanted to say sweet things to him, tease him, slide the silk away and guide him to my opening. But he was right. Marius was right, too. There were still pricks of fear, open scratches on my heart. And this gift was a bucket of clean crystalline cool water after lifetimes of a burning parched throat in the desert. It was enough for now, and it was only a drop in the deeply drained well of my strength.

I'd always met Birsha's clients' releases with them, could not prevent myself, and every moment had been a personal betrayal, my mother's gift transformed to a curse. This was not. It was relief. I might not have met my own finish without Asterion, too tired and too lost in my head, but he threw us there together, and I wept and clutched his back and went spinning into the oblivion with a terrified gratitude. The power was startling and incredible, not a bucket but a flood, my breath stolen as my hunger from so many years caved under the pressure of our shared pleasure, earnest and delighted for one another. Shy too, a bashful profanity.

The room swayed and another wave of néktar struck at me hard, dizzying my head, proving I was not sated—I needed more. I squirmed in Asterion's hold, tore the skirt of the slip, and we both moaned as flesh kissed. And again, his strength rushed at me, filling me, feeding me. And this time, I could not withstand its force. I'd been starved and then feasted. My blood was heavy and drunk with fresh energy, and it swam unevenly in my veins. I swooned into nothing, into Asterion's arms perhaps, although I'd hardly left them, and soft lips brushed my forehead as I sank back into the slumber I'd barely risen from.

I touched my belly and imagined the heavy press of Asterion's cock there. My skin was slightly sticky, but I thought he might've tried to wipe me clean when he'd tucked me in. I had a vague memory his hands stroking over my body for a long time. I wanted to find the minotaur, drag him back into this dreamy, strange quiet, and learn the flavor of his cock, of the pleasure he might find on my tongue. But food and a real bath would suit the flesh and bone part of me first. I would attend to one hunger, and then the other.

"Where does this room exist?" I asked. Asterion had left me with a stranger, but I knew better than to think he would do so lightly. He trusted this King of Clouds, this gryphon. And while Laszlo watched me with a bright golden stare through a pair of spectacles I doubt he needed, it was the brush of curiosity rather than the glare of intent. "It's Hywel's dreaming." Which said nothing, really. I glanced at him, and his head tipped. "This is not just my home. Hywel sleeps below the castle. He dreams. Those dreams seep into the stone."

the cavern I walked into was grander and greater than the main hall of the castle and filled with even more curious objects. More than the whole castle combined, I suspected. At the far end, a crack in the stone broke open to the sea and sky, the same view as the terrace. And there, in the heart of the cavern, surrounded by treasures, I found Hywel, King of Dreams. My heart soared at the sight of the enormous sleeping dragon, his long, curled red body reminiscent of a cat, broad jaw resting on taloned feet and piles of velvet. He sucked in a breath and his back, taller than me or even Asterion, rose and fell with a heavy sigh. His breath warmed the room, a fresh scorch in the air. He rumbled with a drowsy purr,

His scales appeared matte and dull at first, until I reached him and found that they were only dusty. I brushed my sleeve over one palm-sized scale high on his shoulder, as high as I could reach, and it came away gleaming and clean, ruby red with a little crack of opalescent white.

His head was ridged along the center, and protective horns sprouted over his skull. He was exquisite, and his dreams made my body heavy and loose. I found a silk skirt in the pile he used as a pillow, and pulled it free with only a little struggle. "You're beautiful," I murmured to the sleeping dragon. "But you need a little tidying up." I used the silk to wipe away the dust on the part of his snout by my hip, worked my way over to the ridge, and circled it around one of the smaller horns.

Hywel rumbled again, and the sound shook through me, deep into my bones, a stunning vibration that drew a gasp from my lips. Heat pooled in my core, and I gripped the horn to keep from swooning as néktar flooded through my blood like a fire eating through a room with a freshly opened window. I sat down heavily on the thick leg behind me, marveling as I stared up at the enormous jeweled head. A sigh of pleasure from the dragon, and it was as if I'd feasted on flesh for a week. My head was clearer, my body warmer, and my heart hurt from what a relief it was. "Thank you for that. In exchange, I will clean you up," I whispered. "You deserve to shine again, dreaming or not."

I paused on the threshold of the large room, glancing at the table where Laszlo sat alone, one chair and one setting for his dinner. I looked away, thinking hard, and then back again, and found him staring at the sudden addition of another seat and setting. His head turned to me and he blinked, but he said nothing. No protest. No hello. I'd spent the better part of three days climbing over a sleeping dragon, dusting off scales and sucking up néktar. I knew now how much strength I'd lost, how much of my own mind, because it was returning to me one deep, sleeping sigh at a time. If Laszlo knew or cared where I spent my days, he'd said nothing, and I'd scavenged my meals from the ever-occupied kitchens.

Asterion has always been overly cautious when it comes to a woman's safety."

Laszlo picked up his fork and knife and then paused, lowering his hands and staring at me with wide eyes. "You found Hywel." There was a sharp edge to the words, and I wasn't sure if it was rebuke or surprise. "I did. I've been dusting him off." Laszlo's wings stirred, a few tiny feathers floating into the air. "Did he wake?" His stare was fixed to me, and I couldn't tear my own away. "No." Laszlo relaxed slightly and returned to his meal, breaking the frozen gaze that had trapped me so I could do the same. "There is a wax he liked applied after he returned from flying. I will find it…if you'd like to—" "Yes," I said, nodding, my fists clenching around the silverware.

"Hywel has always had a…romantic temperament. His dreams must offer you some relief," Laszlo said, speaking again finally when the awkwardness of our silence had finally melted away. My cheeks warmed. "I don't know what he dreams of, but he's very powerful." Laszlo chuckled, but then cleared the sound away before I could appreciate its warmth. "Do you speak to him? He will sense you." I nodded again, thinking of the praises I'd laid down of his beauty, my occasional gasps of gratitude as he'd shed strength for me to soak up.

"How did you come to be in this castle with Hywel?" I asked. Was Laszlo here to guard Hywel or was he here waiting for Hywel to awaken? Laszlo set down his fork and knife, and I noticed that his plate was mostly cleared. He'd already been eating when I arrived. I realized with a pinch of hurt that he would rise and leave me here now that he was done. But first he said, "The castle is our home." The meaning struck me immediately. Laszlo was not a guard or a friend or simply someone waiting for a dragon to awaken again. Laszlo was Hywel's lover, alone in this vast castle with the company of shadows as the dragon dreamed.

Laszlo rounded the table and offered me his arm, his wings widening. The air around him was powdery, scented of tea and musk,

He grinned at the pair of us, his eyes holding to Laszlo a little longer. "Finally. Friendly faces." His head tipped, and then he winked at me. "Well, one friendly face at least. Ah, and dinner. Good, I'm famished." "I've just finished," Laszlo said, gesturing toward his seat. "I'll leave you bo—" "You'll do no such thing," Conall scoffed, but he didn't hesitate to take Laszlo's seat, where a fresh plate of food was waiting for him. "Sit down and make conversation, or I'll pluck your feathers out while your back is turned."

Laszlo's arm tensed under my hand—it was stronger and thicker than I expected, his careful suiting disguising the power of him—but

"Asterion returned to London," Conall said before lifting the quail on his plate with his fingers and groaning as he took a bite. "Did you expect otherwise?" Laszlo asked, pulling out my chair for me first. "Noble bastard," Conall breathed, and he and Laszlo exchanged a brief glance of amused frustration. "Thank fuck Hywel still dreams of good cooks," Conall moaned around another bite. "He's having an inspired week," Laszlo said with a dip of his head, pouring himself a glass of claret. He looked to me next, decanter hovering over the glass. I nodded and he poured for me, but he passed Conall the bottle to serve himself. There was a curious tension between the two men. They were familiar enough with one another for Conall to pick at Laszlo, but companionable in their pattern too. I tried not to be too obvious about watching them, but I wasn't sure they'd care either way.

"Have you been terribly bored, mo chroí?" Conall asked, but he was pouring his drink, and both Laszlo and I glanced at one another, Laszlo's cheeks coloring slightly. I knew mo chroí—"moh kree" as it sounded—was an old Gaelic endearment for "my heart," but I didn't know which of us he meant. Indeed, when he looked up again, his eyes bounced between us with a mischievous glint, leaving the question intentionally unanswered. "Hywel's no closer to waking?" "I received a few words from him yesterday," Laszlo said, "but I think he was still dreaming."

Conall's gaze steadied on me at last. "You look lovely tonight. Have you been reading her poetry, Laz?" Conall asked with false delicacy. Laszlo's brow furrowed. "Poetry?" I laughed and shook my head. "I am feeling much improved." "Good," Conall said brightly. "But we mustn't grow lazy with your recovery. I'm sure you'd benefit from a great deal more pleasure still." There was no mistake in the words and their meaning. Where Asterion was careful to the point of withholding, Conall had all but made a direct offer.

Conall grinned, sharp canines gleaming in his wicked smile.

Laszlo tried to leave again after Conall and I had finished eating, but the wolf was wily and charming, and instead we found ourselves around the fire. I'd started on the opposite end of the couch as Conall, but somewhere after a third glass of wine I realized I'd been coaxed to his side, my head resting on his lap and long fingers stroking through my hair and down my arm, the wide collar of the gown I wore pushed down to bare one shoulder. His touch was hot and teasing, provocative without being explicit, and the wine left me relaxed.

"Con—Con—" "Shh," he said, the whisper dragging a shudder through me, the sound matching the dragging of a tail over stone, or an uneven footstep. "You fell asleep. I thought you'd want your bed." I was here in the castle. Conall was in front of me. I was not in my cell. I threw myself into Conall's chest and he sighed, gathering warm arms around my back. "There you are, mo chroí. You're safe. I have you."

I nodded and he gusted out a breath, jolting forward and grasping me by the back of my neck before I could tear myself away. But his kiss on my brow was gentle and grazing, and we both sighed as he held there briefly. "You need some sunshine tomorrow," Conall murmured, pulling away, his thumb stroking my cheek once. "Sleep." It was on my tongue to call him back, but he was too fast, out the door before I could draw the words out.

Conall shook me awake again, holding still at the foot of the bed as I sat up with a gasp and a strangled cry. "No more nightmares for you, mo chroí. Up you get." I blinked at the wolf. I'd never seen him properly by daylight. He was like the burning wick of a flame at night, glowing and lighting up a room, but in the sunlight from my window there was a softer quality, and it shook the bleak grip of my dreams out of my head.

Conall turned his face to the door, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching. A moment later, a breath gusted out of his chest and his head shook, brilliant red hair catching and tossing the sunlight along its length. His laughter was rough and bitter. "I usually leave the heroic feelings to Asterion and the others, but you seem to draw out the impulse to hunt for shining armor."

I shoved the tangled blankets away from me, and Conall's eyes slid back to my body with an entirely ignoble graze over my breasts. "I would think armor is fairly ungainly." At last, the wolf seemed to recover himself, a bright, feral grin on his lips. "Oh trust me, mo chroí, I move much better without it." I hummed and stifled my laugh, and Conall braced his hands on either side of my calves. "In fact, I am at my best out of clothing altogether."

My gaze slid away as I recalled the stroke and press of Asterion's cock through silk. But that hadn't been seduction so much as a dreamy necessity. I still wondered why he'd done it and then vanished before I could really thank him. Was he only worried about my hunger, or was there any selfish enjoyment on his side? "Don't take it personally that he didn't return," Conall said, ducking his head to catch my eye, winking at me. "If anything, it's a testament to how badly he wants to be here." I bit my lip, considering a question, but Conall continued on before I could sort it out.

"Now. I promised you sunshine today, and in spite of the odds, Wales listened. Or perhaps Hywel caught a whiff of it, who knows with him. Eat something and then join me outside." "You're a bit managing," I pointed out. Conall laughed again, rising from the bed and shrugging. "Most don't notice. But yes. And on that note…" He trailed off, eyes taking another languid study of me, smile sharpening. "Don't dress. It's warm out, and you won't want it for what I have planned."

My cheeks were burning and my legs trembled. Conall was potent, alarmingly so.

I jolted as starched cotton struck the ground, spun and found Conall wrestling out of his shirt. He had bright, fire-red hair glinting on his chest, down to circle around his dark belly button, the color deepening as it reached the waistband of his pants. His hair swung forward as he bent, unbuttoning his trousers and dropping them unceremoniously. I stepped back, partly shocked and partly in need of a better view. Conall was broad and tightly packed with muscle, chest carved and thighs thick. He was elegant and wild at the same time, hair dense and almost furred down his thighs. His cock was half-hard, the tip a little sharper than a man's, the base slightly swollen. I'd fucked werewolves in the past, been fucked by them in captivity. I knew the pleasure of a knot—the dense muscle that swelled at the base of a werewolf's cock during arousal—and also the trap it became as it locked a cock inside of me. I tore my stare away and then paused at the swooshing beat of a bright red tail kicking behind Conall's back. "I told you I move better undressed," Conall said, words light, cock already calming.

I swallowed hard, wondering if he was waiting for me to undress too, or if he would pounce and tear my robe and nightdress from my body. He did neither, flashing me a quick, easy smile, and then turning and darting toward a shadowy orchard grove. "Chase me or not. Up to you!" His tail swished as he ran, and I laughed at the sight of him, pert ass clenched, hair floating and bouncing. "And when I catch you?" I called. Conall vanished behind a tree. "That's up to you too."

Conall spun to face me, knees bending and arms outstretched to catch me. I leapt, throwing myself into his chest, and he braced us both, landing on the ground and rolling, our legs tangling together. I caught his hair in my fist, and he snarled as I pulled hard on it. My back hit the earth and then arched up, and I pushed my breasts to Conall's face. "I won," I gasped out. Conall huffed and growled, but his mouth devoured my offering.

Conall's bite was gentle, his tongue swirling and lips suckling on my breast. I wrestled beneath him until my legs were unpinned, gulping down air, my body throbbing with exhaustion, with arousal. I rolled my hips up into Conall's lightly-furred stomach, a trail of short red hairs traveling down his belly, and my breath stuttered. "Feast," I ordered, and it was a command for both of us. I pushed at Conall's head and he laughed, sitting up and fighting my grip long enough to grin at me. "Gladly."

Conall ducked again, sucking and slurping on me, and my cunt throbbed, empty and pleading. I sat up and Conall scowled as I tugged him away from my sex, but he laughed as I pawed and pushed and threw him down to the ground, climbed over his long legs, stroked and scratched at his chest. His hands gripped my hips, and he was lazy, indolent, and luxurious in the grass, his eyes matching their shadows, his hair strikingly bright. The sun struck my back hard, and I moaned at the very sight of him.

I'd known from first glance that Conall was made for hedonism, and he'd drawn out parts of myself that had been buried years ago. I wanted them back. Immediately. I found his cock, stroked it in my fist, smiled and marveled as his eyes rolled back and his chest heaved with a low moan. He bucked as I sank, and we both froze, mouths open and eyes wide, as his cock pressed inside of me.

I ground down into his lap, relearning the feeling of a cock inside of me, the safety of arms around my back. His touch was loose, petting gently at my spine and down to squeeze my ass, but his kiss was urgent, teeth starting to nip and breath ragged. I pushed, my hands around his throat, and he let out a long, dark sound of pleasure as he fell back into the grass. "Fuck me, mo chroí."