Mercy Burns (Myth and Magic 2)

I smiled, though it belied the anger that still burned somewhere inside. But it was an anger aimed just as much at myself as the man who’d given me the scar. I’d been stupid that day. Stupid enough to put myself into that situation, and to believe that a dragon could ever change his colors. “Apparently there was a bet between Seth—the man who gave me the scar—and his bisexual mate. The object was to bed as many draman as possible in a day. I refused to be one of many, and he lost the bet by one draman.”

To say he’d been unhappy would be the understatement of the century. And if I’d thought his tormenting had been bad up until then, afterward it became ten times worse.

Damon’s finger was moving again, tracing a line down my back. He reached the junction of my legs and my breath hitched. For a moment, neither of us moved. My awareness of that finger—and of him—was so acute that every little hair on my body felt like it was standing on end, and my heart was going a million miles an hour. Wanting, needing—and yet fearing it at the same time.

How many times had I been in a situation like this, wanting someone I shouldn’t?

And how many more times did I need to get hurt before I learned my lesson? Before I stopped hoping that not all dragons were tarred with the same brutal brush? That there was one out there who could accept me?

That man wasn’t Damon. He was a hit man for the council, for God’s sake, and a man who believed draman shouldn’t exist.

I should be running as far and as fast as I could.

And yet here I stood. Hoping. Needing.

“What about the scar that cuts across the middle of your stain?” he said softly, his touch shifting. Up to the snakelike skin that twined around my spine. Not downward. Not to where it ached.

Disappointment mingled with relief, but both were quickly washed away as his caress slid across my hip.

“The result of fighting off yet another would-be suitor who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“And this?” he said softly, his fingers tracing the jagged scar that cut across my shoulder blades, slicing into the tip of my stain.

I shivered, as much from his caress as the memories. “A gift from a flight lesson gone wrong.”

His hand slid around my waist, and suddenly there was no space between us. All I could feel was the heat of him pressed up against me. The hardness of his erection nestled against my butt. The warmth of his breath flowed past my ear as he said, “Draman can fly?”

I could barely breathe, let alone think, but somehow managed to say, “Most can.”

“Can you?”

His lips brushed my ear as he spoke. I shivered, the memories of past hurt crowding present pleasure, the need for caution warring with the simple desire to feel and enjoy the touch of another. “I’ve never been able to fly.”

It was the truth in more ways than one.

“Then perhaps that is something we should fix when we have a little more time.”

His lips brushed the junction of my neck and shoulders, and for a moment it felt like he were branding me.

Then he stepped back and cold air washed between us, cooling my skin but not my reaction. I ached, and there was no simple remedy for something like that. Not here, and not now, anyway.

“Raise your arms so I can spray you down,” he said, his tone calm and unperturbed. Which was annoying, to say the least. Death could at least have the decency to sound a little hot and bothered.

I raised my arms as ordered, and moisture hit my skin, its scent slightly acidic but not unpleasant. He sprayed my back, arms, and legs, then ordered me to turn around. I did, and he repeated the process, all in a very cool, calm, and collected way.

Highly annoying indeed.

When he’d finished, I reached for my clothes again, but he’d already grabbed them and tossed them into the trunk. “They’ve seen that outfit. You’ll need something else.”

While he scavenged through his trunk, I reached for my flames and used them to cover my nakedness. They lapped across my body gently—a fiery blanket that neither burned nor smoked, and one that had the bonus of keeping the chill from my skin. I just had to hope that no one came out of the elevator—although standing there naked was as likely to catch as much attention as standing there on fire.

Not that Damon seemed to notice either way, despite the powerful erection I’d felt only moments before. My gaze slipped downward. It was still there, and that made me feel a little better. At least Death wasn’t in control of absolutely everything.

“I thought you didn’t carry female clothing around with you?”

“I don’t, and we can’t risk going out to buy more, so this time you’ll have to make do with male.”

“Oh. Great.” Just what I needed when in the company of a dynamic and sexy man—to look like a kid dressing up in her daddy’s clothes. “It’s going to look ridiculous. And certainly not very manlike.”