He exploded from the lake directly below Aranta. She shrieked in shock as his body surged up beneath her, and his teeth closed on her throat. She struggled briefly, but the hold was as programmed in her as her pheromones were targeted to him. With her throat protected by thickened scales, her body went limp in his grasp.
Triumph interwoven with lust flooded Tyrez. With powerful beats of his wings, he carried them up.
This was his true test—one of power and endurance—to carry a full-sized Dragona away from the earth toward the moon. Their survival over the next few moments depended entirely upon him. If a Dragona chose poorly, she could pay for it with her life.
The strain rippled through Tyrez’s shoulders and back, but he continued to climb. Until the cold stiffened his wings and nipped at his clawed fingers and toes. But still, he climbed.
All the while, her scent permeated every cell of his body, lending heat and power to where he needed it most. He carried her until the mountains were mere snow-capped molehills, barely visible through the clouds below.
Then he hovered, his wings holding them aloft as his teeth released her. He entwined his neck with hers, rubbing his head along her jaws, and his own throat swelled, filling the surrounding air with a deep vibration that was more than mere sound. It thawed the moisture in the surrounding clouds and danced them free to bead on their scales, catching the sun’s rays like diamonds.
He pulled her close to him with his fore and hind talons, folded his wings, and let them drop from the sky.
She was helpless to stop them—her life was in his hands. Or rather, beneath his wings. He oriented them back and tilted them to catch the wind, stopping them from plummeting headlong toward the mountains. It caused them to spin as they fell, and as they did so, he pulled her ever closer. Her pheromones enveloped him, igniting every sense, urging him onward. Until he wove his tail with hers, and she gripped him with her talons, sinking them deep into his flesh—
A thick cloud of scent focused his body on one driving need. With their necks intertwined, their heads were only inches apart...
For a split second, his imagination painted the delicate red scales on Aranta’s face gold.
Gold? The shock of it froze Tyrez.
Aranta stiffened beneath him.
Her perfume swirled around him, but the golden Dragon danced through his brain. His body, however, quivered with need—it was beyond ready for her, and Aranta seized control, digging her hind talons into him to pull him close. She poised herself over him, and instinct had him thrusting into her.
Her heat snapped Tyrez out of his trance. His Dragon had taken over. They writhed together as they fell amid the whistling wind, the tension building, until Aranta threw her head back in a warbling cry of ecstasy. A second later, Tyrez’s Dragon echoed it.
For a few crucial seconds, time itself stood still as wave after wave passed through them. But to linger during Dragon sex was to die. The jagged cliffs rushed up at them, and Tyrez spread his wings wide. They cupped the air with a crack like thunder, his shoulder and chest muscles quivering with strain.
They dropped within the snowy peaks, but he kept them safely away, and with several powerful beats, stopped their downward plunge. Aranta lay folded in his arms with her claws still sunk deep into him. Most Legion warriors carried such mating scars with pride.
In the past, he’d run the gamut of emotions. Mostly warmth and affection for the Dragonas he’d mated. But now, Tyrez felt only emptiness.
When Aranta cocked her head to look up at him, her eyes blazed. “What the shards is wrong with you?”
He stiffened as he headed for a nearby cliff. “What do you mean?” he hedged.
“You—stopped. Right at the wrong moment.”
“I paused—”
“Youstopped.”
“I didn’t stop for long.”
His feet touched down, and she yanked away from him in a flutter of wings. “You shouldn’t have been able to stop at all! Razir warned me that you’d been distracted lately. Is this about that Dire female?”
Tyrez was torn between anger at his brother, humiliation that Aranta had noticed his hesitation, and worry that she might transfer her anger to Dani.
A fight between a Dragona and a Dire would be an uneven contest.
“It is not about her,” he protested. “Leave her out of this.”
The Dragona’s eyes ignited. “She is nothing but adog. Howdareyou.”
Tyrez stifled the surge of rage. None of this was Aranta’s fault. She deserved her moment of glory, and he’d nearly blown it. He doubted that pointing out he’d fulfilled his mating obligation would provide her with much satisfaction.
“If I have not performed—”
