Dragon Moon (18 page)

I step toward her, stop just before our bodies touch. Chloe rubs her jowl against mine. I accept her touch, wait for her next move.
“Elizabeth told me you and she made love in the air the first time you met. Did you?”

She backs away and for a moment I'm afraid again that I've lost her. But she lies on her back on the bed of branches, her sweet cream-colored underbody showing, her swollen sex completely exposed.
“Then I think we should make love here,”
she says.

Standing still, I stare at her, take in her beauty.

“Come on, Peter,”
she says.
“You're not the only one of us in need here.”

I rush forward, Chloe's scent clouding around me, fogging my mind. There's no need for any further conversation. As frenzied as Chloe and I both are, there's no need for foreplay. I ram myself into her, Chloe shuddering once, yowling as I growl at the warm, tight pleasure of her reception.

She seizes me with her foreclaws, digs her talons into my sides, penetrating my scales, drawing blood as she erupts beneath me, her tail thrashing, her jaws clamped on my throat, the sharp tips of her fangs piercing me. The aroma of my blood blends with the smells of cinnamon and musk, pain mixes with pleasure.

Shocked by her wildness, I bellow, attempt to pull back. I'd expected her to be gentler than her sister, not more forceful. But I can't break her hold. I put my full weight on her, attempt to pin her into submission, but she digs her claws and teeth even more into me as she bucks and heaves against me, her scent growing thicker until I'm powerless to do anything but move in response to her.

Chloe orgasms first, yowling into the night, pulling me even closer to her, her sex spasming, clamping hard around me. I follow only seconds later, my mind devoid of any thoughts, preoccupied only by the sensations that overwhelm me.

Afterwards, neither of us moves. Chloe still holds me with her claws, still clamps her jaws on my throat. A gust of night wind penetrates the cave deep enough to cool us, carry off some of the scents that envelop us. I sigh, breathe the fresh air and then become more aware of the pain of Chloe's embrace. Groaning, I pull back my head, flexing my shoulders so she'll release me.

This time she relents and I roll to her side, sigh again, rubbing her tail with mine. Chloe half purrs, half growls, her eyes closed, one claw gently tracing the welts and gashes she's inflicted on me.
“I did that?”
She chuckles, presses closer to me.
“Poor you.”

“It's nothing I can't heal,”
I say.

As satiated as I am, I find I'm not sorry either.
“But,”
I say as I will my wounds to close, my skin to heal,
“it might be better if you don't break the surface the next time.”

She nestles against me, gives a little shrug.
“No promises here, Peter. I've never done this before. How can I know how I'll behave the next time? You're just going to have to take your chances.”

 

We fall asleep, side by side, drowse until our stomachs start to rumble with hunger. Chloe sits up first, leans against me,
“Are you awake, Peter?”

When I don't answer right away, she slaps my tail with hers.
“Are you going to be like my pa and brothers — always sleeping, expecting a female to hunt for you any time you don't feel like it?”

The slap barely stings. I open one eye and fake growl, mindspeaking,
“I wasn't expecting to be slapped awake by my bride.”

“Good.”
Chloe laughs and slaps my tail with hers again, a little harder.
“I don't want you to think I'm dull and predictable.”

“How about just annoying?”
I mindspeak, playing along with her teasing, sitting up on one haunch, pinning her tail down with mine before she can slap me again.

“No fair! You're bigger!”
Chloe shoves against me, tries to free herself. No matter how she moves, I manage to keep her pinned, both of us laughing as we struggle.
“Okay, you asked for it,”
she says and gives off a fresh burst of scent.

Cinnamon and musk envelop me. I gasp at my body's immediate reaction and turn toward my bride, releasing her as I do so. But, laughing, she rolls away from me.
“Mum said there are always ways to beat a male.”

Her laugh is deeper than Elizabeth's, full of delight. Even in my state of rut, it makes me smile.
“Now who's being unfair!”
I say and she laughs even more.

I want to approach her, to quiet her laughs with my touch, but I can't help but think about my son at home by himself. The boy's never woken to find me gone. Rising, turning from my bride, I say,
“I need to be home before sunrise. Henri will be worried if I'm not there.”

Chloe stops laughing, says,
“Don't you want to stay in the cave with me?”

I follow Chloe, let her do the hunting as tradition dictates, but insist only that we take no children.
“I don't like hunting them either,”
she says.
“It always makes me feel sad when one of the others bring home young ones. Pa says they taste sweeter, but I don't care.”

We find a shepherd sleeping by his flock on the outskirts of Maroonetown, an older man, gray haired and a little too thin. Chloe lands and kills him before he awakes. We feed alongside each other, Chloe searching for the best parts, pushing them toward me.

After eating, our desire returns and we make love on the ground under the open sky, the shepherd's remains just feet away, his sheep restive and milling near us. This time, Chloe's more subdued, almost gentle at times.

The sun is a thin edge of light between the night sky and the horizon when we finally land alongside the pool deck behind Bartlet House. I shift to my human shape as soon as I touch ground. “We need to go inside before any of my employees arrive,” I say.

Chloe remains in her natural form. “Not bad,” she says, examining me.

“You've seen me like this before.”

She laughs.
“That was five years ago and only for a little while. I was young then. I didn't know what to look for.”

I frown at her. “Please, Chloe, change so we can go inside. I don't want anyone seeing us like this.”

“Why? I've seen your human shape before.”

Turning my back on her, I wait for her permission to view her. But, instead, after she changes, she presses her two hands against my back, pushes gently. “Take me inside, Peter, you can see me when we get to your room.”

I smile at the sweet sound of her voice. It's deeper than I'd expected — her accent, like her family's, more upper-class British than Jamaican. I toy with the thought of twirling around, viewing her by surprise, but I'm still wary of upsetting her.

She drops her hands down, grabs my buttocks, giggling as we go up the stairs to the veranda.

“Chloe!” I mock complain.

The tile floor is cold under my feet. Chloe's hands grab and touch at my back on the way to my room, both of us laughing, until, afraid we'll wake Henri, I say, “Please shush.”

Chloe muffles her giggles, presses her full body against my back once we're in my room, her nipples hard against my back, her pubic hair brushing my buttocks.

Once again I have no choice but to grow hard. “Can I turn now?” I say.

“Just a moment.” Chloe backs away from me and I regret the momentary loss of her touch.

“You can turn.”

I do and suck in my breath at the sight of her. She's far darker than Elizabeth, almost a deep milk-chocolate color, but otherwise she could be my dead wife's twin, her body a little fuller, her nose and jaw finer, her lips thick where Elizabeth's had been thin, her hair longer, dark curls spiraling down to her wide shoulders. But her emerald-green eyes sparkle in a way Elizabeth's never did and, unlike my departed wife, her voice turns husky when she invites me to bed.

We lie together over the covers, stroking and caressing each other, kissing for the first time, Chloe's lips soft against mine. Our lovemaking is almost an afterthought to the rest of our activities, our orgasms muted, leading almost immediately to sleep. My new mate surrenders to slumber first, her face close to mine, her lips slightly parted, her breath warm and sweet against my face. I sigh and surrender too, safe, I think, to finally accept that my quest is over, my mate found.

16

The rap of a small hand against my bedroom door wakes me. I stretch, groan at the soreness in my muscles, look toward Chloe and find her sitting up cross-legged in bed watching me. Henri knocks again, says, “Papa?”

“What?” I turn toward the night table, glance at the clock, ten-fifteen in the morning.

“Can I come in?” The knob starts to turn.

Chloe giggles, scoots under the covers.

This is not how I want my son to meet my future wife. “No,” I say. “Henri, go downstairs. Find something to do. I'll be down in a half hour or so.”

“But I'm bored. Granny says he's too busy to watch me dive.”

“So do something else.”

The boy clomps his feet as he walks away. “He sounds cute,” Chloe says.

“He is cute.” I get out of bed, pull the covers off her. “Come on. If you get up now we can shower together. Then, after we get dressed, I'll introduce you to my son.”

Chloe stands, looks around the room, furrowing her brow as she does so. Then she puts her hands on her hips, looks at me and laughs.

“What?” I say.

“Okay,” she says. “Just what were you expecting me to dress in?”

My mate's small enough that one of my larger knit shirts can act as a short dress, covering her to midthigh. Still, barefoot, my yellow pique knit shirt cinched at her waist with a red tie, Chloe looks like a little girl dressed in her daddy's shirt — one who's obviously naked under the cotton material. Velda glares at me, as if I've taken advantage of Chloe, when we come down the stairs together.

Chloe holds my arm and toys with her hair with her other hand as she explains. “It's Peter's fault really. If he hadn't pushed me in the pool last night and absolutely ruined my new silk dress, I'd never have to wear such a silly thing. He's going to buy me a completely new outfit today to make up for it. Aren't you, Peter?”

I nod.

Henri just stares at her. Finally he mindspeaks to me, his thoughts masked. {
She looks like the picture of Momma.
}

“You can say it out loud, son.”

He looks down, almost mumbles, “You look like my momma did.”

Chloe crouches next to him, touches his cheek. “She was my sister, Henri. We always looked alike.”

“Are you going to come live with us?”

“If you and your father will have me. Is that okay with you, Henri?”

He nods, turns to me, says, “Can I go swimming now?”

Chloe and I leave Henri in Granny's care, drive to Wakefield, hoping to find enough clothes that fit her, to make her presentable enough to go shopping for better clothes in Montego Bay. She sits as close to me as the Land Rover's bucket seats allow, her hand on my thigh, and stares out the window as she says, “This is my first time outside Cockpit Country. You know how my mum and pa are — they only let Derek venture out.”

I nod.

“They already know about us. I told Mum this morning.”

It comes as no surprise to me. Henri and I aren't the only ones who can mask their thoughts. “Elizabeth told your mother fairly soon too,” I say.

“Well, I think Mum took it a bit differently this time.”

I look at Chloe, raise an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“She's in a bit of a snit about it. She thinks it was wrong of you to come back this way — ‘underhanded,' I think, was the word she used.”

Sighing, I say, “Can't she just be happy for us?”

“You have to understand my parents, Peter. Once they get a thought in their minds, it takes a long time to change it. They expected you to protect Elizabeth. They think you took unfair advantage of me.”

In-laws. I shake my head. Samantha and Charles Blood had hardly left me with any warm memories from our last meeting. The thought of spending time with them now makes me wish we could leave on the next plane. “Great,” I say. “It should make for a wonderful feast.”

Chloe laughs. “They'll still have a wedding feast for us. Mum already said she wants you at Morgan's Hole two days from now. They don't hate you, Peter. They're only angry at you. Mum says she can't wait to meet Henri. She'll be even more thrilled when I tell her we're going to have a daughter.”

I look at her and my mate smiles, pats her stomach. “You do good work, Peter.”

 

We spend the afternoon clothes shopping in Montego Bay. Chloe buys shorts, blouses, jeans and halter tops, dresses, bras and underwear, shoes and sneakers. “This is the first time I've ever been able to pick and choose what I want,” she says, “Usually Mum tells Derek what to bring home.” She models each outfit for me, choosing in the end a white sundress and a pair of sandals to wear for the rest of the day.

If anything, a bookstore, Galways Books, thrills her even more than the clothing store. After an hour of browsing, I have to insist she decide on a few books so we can get back to Bartlet House by dark.