“If we just had more time…” I sigh hard. “But we don’t. And I just worry that us pushing this all too soon, under such duress… is going to make us fall apart, rather than come together.”
“Just do what you encouraged Baldur to do earlier, Rikyava,” Ström stops me then, pulling me around by the shoulder to face him, serious but calm. “Stay in your emotions as we do this; stay in your heart. Get real with what you’re feeling and don’t hold back confronting it right in the moment. If you feel something from the rest of us drakes, confront us as well. Because a truly elevated time with a group can’t happen if anyone’s holding on to shit. Much less hiding how they feel from the rest of us. Including you.”
“Sounds like a therapy session, rather than sex.” I chuckle, though it’s grim.
“In many ways, it is.” Ström nods, before setting our torches aside in the hall and putting his arms around me, pulling me in. I avoid his gaze, feeling too much conflict. Gently, Ström sets his fingers on my chin, encouraging me to look up.
His grass-green eyes beam at me, kind.
“Hey. Don’t hide from this.” Ström kisses my lips. “Remember that you are a furious, ball-busting beauty of a drakaina, and all four of your drakes are madly in love with you. Not just that, but you care deeply about us, as well. We all want this to go well, Rikyava; weneedit to. Not just because we need the power to heal Baldur, but also because we each feel a basic need to be accepted, to be loved—and by the more people, the merrier.”
“Who made you the group’s Love Guru?” I chuckle, but it’s sweeter now as I wind my arms around Ström’s lean waist, referencing a quirky Mike Myers rom com. Nuzzling his chest, I run my lips over his skin at his open collar near his heart. “I know you’re right. I need to put aside my fears about all this and stay present in my heart. It’s so hard when everything inside me keeps tipping black, though; about the Dragon of AllSouls, about the extreme danger we’re in… and about possibly losing all of you. Just when this was getting good.”
“Use that in the bedroom.” Ström cups my face tenderly in both his hands, devouring me with his brilliant emerald gaze. “Use all that emotion you feel for us, your fears and your deep love, to power this once it gets going. Because just like when we fight on the battlefield, that fear of loss makes this one moment we have so very precious. Blood Dragons never know when any one of us will die. So we celebrate the moment with our togetherness. And the fleeting preciousness of being together… even when everything else feels lost.”
As I gaze up at my amazing Second Drake, I know he’s right. And he is our Love Guru, as an incredible sensation fills me now—a vast gratefulness for Ström and everything he is, inside and out.
That gratefulness lifts me up as I place my lips on his. We kiss, long and decadent, as a beautiful fire fills me now, rather than a terrible one.
Lighting me up from the inside out.
Ready for this, at last.
15
FIGHT
An hour later, Ström, Bjorn, Mikkel, and I are assembled in my room. Baldur’s still out, and can’t be a part of this, but Mikkel has gotten us food, and Ström’s refreshed the bed with a new silk duvet and sheets, found in one of the magically protected alcoves.
Ström had us all change into silken pajama attire for this, rather than wear our fighter’s leathers, which he found in a trunk in one alcove. We’ve all eaten, so we at least have that going for us. Now, it’s awkward, as everyone stands around the table, finished with our food.
No idea where to start.
I fidget now as I stand before my drakes in a draping plum silk robe, with a high collar and intricate golden braid-work. It’s comfy and not frilly; though I’m intensely aware of how butt-ass naked I am underneath for our upcoming sexcapade.
Despite Ström’s encouragement, I feel like a piece of meat in it, standing at the head of the table with my drakes lingering around me, each dressed in nothing but silken lounge-pants for our endeavor.
Unsure where to begin, I can’t help but eyeball them now as I sip a strange wine that tastes like peaches and mint, which Mikkel found in thekitchen. It’s not like I’m not attracted to my drakes; I am, as I eyeball each of them now, and their distinctly unique hotness.
Bjorn is massively fit, his rock-solid thighs and shelf ass disastrously hot in his crimson silk pants, embroidered with gold. His incredible, long hair already falls free over his shoulders like pure spun gold, decorating his massive shoulders and firm chest, his strong waist and washboard abs any drakaina’s wet dream.
Bjorn returns my gaze from beneath his level brows, scalding as he watches me, his eyes already gone full-gold into the blistering heat of his drake. Though he’s committed to this now, he’s waiting for my say-so to get this party started, and hasn’t approached me yet.
Ström waits, lifting a cheeky blond eyebrow at me now as he smiles around his own wineglass, sipping our beverage for tonight. Dressed in dark emerald silk pants with golden embroidery, Ström’s rucked his short, tawny hair up into a glorious mess, his lean, mean frame calling to me with how tight-wound it is, and able to fuck.
I miss the roaring dragon tattoos that used to decorate his lovely skin; he looks bare now without them. Something inside me darkens at that, worried that Ström no longer carries his clan’s protection.
That he gave it all away, to save me—and all of us, from destruction.
Mikkel picks up on my inner darkness now, as I feel a sudden heave from his vast black mamba of a drake. My gaze snaps to him and I see knowledge glitter in his dark eyes as he watches me, swirling his wine and downing it in one fell swoop.
Those incredible, terrible eyes devour me as Mikkel holds my gaze. He looks beyond deadly tonight in all-black silk pants with no embroidery whatsoever, only his sea-raiding Danish tattoos scrawling all over his left chest and shoulder, dipping down his back.
As our inner dragons make a connection, my black Bone Magic drake roars up tall within me. Mikkel jolts, setting his wineglass down on the table as hot copper flares in his eyes.
Then he’s coming to me—breaking our stalemate, at last.
Mikkel’s the furthest from me around the table, however. Bjorn is the closest; I feel his own inner drake roar now, furious and possessive, to not let Mikkel be the one to contact me first in this.
