Elora relaxed a little. “How long has that been happening?”
Marahl shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never paid much attention to it. The lair is well-maintained and well-kept, these small tremors are part of living here.”
Elora frowned at her, confused by how she could be so calm about it. Even if the mountain was safe, why would any of the dragorai build a lair inside a mountain that randomly trembled like that. Also, Nyro’s lair wasn’t that far from this one, considering the size of their territories, and his lair never suffered anything like this. Something was strange.
“The servant I saw,” she said hesitantly, “when I asked what was happening, he said ‘He’s back.’”
Marahl glanced at her. “Yes, he is. He wishes to see you.”
Elora tensed, her breath rushing out in a gust. “You’re taking me to him? Right now?”
“Yes.”
The urge to run in the opposite direction sparked through her muscles but she let it pass. What he planned for her was the role she had always intended to fulfill; she couldn’t avoid it and it wasn’t worth angering him.
Marahl led her up a few sloping corridors where a dry, warm breeze drifted through the air, and she stopped outside of a set of wide double doors, then gestured for Elora to enter. “Wait in here for him.”
Elora took a breath, then opened the door. Inside was the beast’s chambers. It was very different from Nyro’s. Zendyor had much less furniture and his furnishings were plainer, but bolder; a huge bed with four thick column posts, solid gold chests, and a beautiful, square table with a couple of chairs. One wall was missing, just like in Nyro’s chamber, providing a beautiful view of his mountain range, but Zendyor’s room had a simple design.
She edged to the middle of the room, studying everything she could from where she stood. The only decorative things in the room were a painting on the wall and a rug on the floor, both minimal; plain muted colors with a splash of bold color. She was glad to see that he, at least, had artwork.
It was quiet, and after a long moment Elora relaxed. Here the silence was peaceful, not like the uncomfortable quiet in the lower corridors of the lair where people were busy working but didn’t speak. Maybe it was the furnishings, but the beast’s chamber felt like the only normal place so far. She wandered to the window and gazed out over his mountain range. It was just as beautiful as all the views she’d seen from the windows in Nyro’s lair, white and grey mountains spreading out into the distance, meeting the horizon with a vibrant blue sky. She’d lost track of the time, but it looked like it could be late afternoon.
Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at the sound of a slamming door and when she spun around, she screamed.
Dressed in just pants, the beast’s thick, muscled upper body was on display, but his entire body was covered in blood. It drenched his hair, coated every inch of his face, hands, every patch of skin, saturated his pants, and even trickled down his neck as though it was secreting from his pores. But it wasn’t just that. This time he truly did look like a beast. Mouth twisted in a snarl, wild eyes filled with fury, and fists clenched, he was clearly still in whatever killing frenzy he had returned from. And he was charging toward her.
Elora backed away, terror in her throat, but his strides were long and it was mere moments before he reached her.
Grabbing her by the neck and pulling her toward him, he buried his face in her neck again, but this time she fought, attempting to pry his hand from her neck as she hit his chest repeatedly. But her hands bounced off his hard muscle. He groaned and continued to breath her in, ignoring her ineffective attack. Her body was in sudden movement when he strode toward his bed, dragging her backward as she struggled and fought, yet his distinctive scent surrounded her quickly. This time it was layered with a compelling bitter edge that warned her of his mood—aggressive, aroused, determined. It seeped heavily from him, so powerful that it soon nestled in her nostrils, hit the back of her throat, and clung to her skin, as though she was being smothered by it. And of course her body reacted.
By the time he threw her down on the bed, an ache coiled deep in her stomach, her slick gathered in abundance and her nipples painfully rubbed against her tunic.
The beast’s mouth found her neck, and she shuddered, whimpering as he licked and sucked the sensitive skin. Then he was tearing at her tunic, ripping it off her in strips to get to her body.
Elora tried to keep fighting, but her mind was choppy with confused thoughts and sensations. Her hand stilled on his slippery arm as the overly large muscles contracted, and some part of her—not completely unknown to her conscious mind—marveled at the strength of him, and despite his dominant behavior she was eager to have her tongue on him.
Within moments her tunic was shredded and his mouth found her nipple. She cried out as he sucked her hard, biting and flicking his tongue as his hand trailed down her body. Elora exhaled, her mouth open, her back arched, flutterings of pleasurable sparks vibrating around her body.
Zendyor pressed himself against her, smearing her with the blood he was drenched in, but she couldn’t focus on that when the sensations he caused were overwhelming her. He moved between her breasts until she writhed and moaned, her nipples inflamed with a delicious scorching tingle from his teeth and tongue. Covering her skin with his saliva, he licked and sucked everywhere he could reach.
It was the coppery odor of blood tainting his scent that kept her from surrendering completely—a small worm of resistance wriggling through the overwhelming feelings, but when he lowered between her legs, pressing his face to her slit and breathing her in, the rumble of his sigh sent a beam of glorious rapture through her that cut through everything else. His tongue lapped at her, dragging through her folds to harass the sensitive bundle between them. He sucked the tip just right, making her jerk and twist and whine for more.
He feasted well, and soon she was gasping, unable to take the intensity of what was building. Twirling her fingers through his drenched hair, she grabbed a fistful and attempted to pull his head away, blood trickling through her fingers as she squeezed, but the beast could not be moved. He ignored her, building a rhythm that swept and swirled her up and into a molten peak of delicious madness. Every muscle convulsed as she soared, her back arched, breath caught in her lungs for a long weightless moment, then the tension drained out of her.
The beast finally released her. He rose over her, his eyes heavy with a hungry need so powerful, it made her skin prickle. She panted as she watched him position himself over her, barely noticing that her legs were bent, her knees eagerly spread wide to accommodate him. The smell of her permeated the space between them, mingling with the odor of blood and the beast’s own deeply enticing scent. And together, they smelled sinfully sublime.
The beast pinned her down, his big hands securing her onto the bed and he speared her with one thrust. Elora screamed, both pleasure and pain rocking through her, savage and consuming, alerting every part of her that her body was no longer her own. The beast stilled, fully sheathed within her as she gasped and wriggled underneath him. He spoke, his voice deep as he rumbled words from his strange language, but it was strangely soothing and although she had no idea what he was saying, Elora relaxed and quietened, looking up to meet his hot gaze.
Then he moved, slamming into her in hard, long strokes. Elora remained tense for a long moment, afraid of the intensity of the pain and pleasure, but the feel of him inside her evolved quickly into something raw and primal, tumbling into every inch of her being.