Wyvern's Prince (The Dragons of Incendium Book 2) (16 page)

His skin smoothed and stretched, changing color and texture. Hair sprouted, so slowly that it was excruciating, on his head, his chest, his legs. The cut on his arm from the pavofel’s bite became proportionately larger and the wound opened again, stinging as it bled blue once more. It was the least of his troubles. He bit back a moan as the torment increased to a crescendo and he was sure he couldn’t stand any more. He opened his mouth to bellow and suddenly, his body quivered and stilled.

Venero took a deep breath.

He opened his eyes, then smiled at the sight of his hands and forearms. He sat up, running his hands down his legs and over his own torso, needing to feel the evidence that his human form was restored as well as to see it. He shoved a hand through his hair, savoring its thick waves as he never had before. He was covered with perspiration and well aware of the dirt beneath his nails. He was naked, too. He moved away from Gemma’s refuge and immersed himself in the river that ran through the mountain. He scrubbed himself clean in its cold water and barely kept from laughing aloud.

Gemma had done this for him.

Gemma deserved a reward.

Wait. First, he had to send her a dream.

First, he had to verify that she didn’t share Arista’s nature.

He would have planned it better if he hadn’t had such a grueling day. Or maybe it was magic, showing a quirk of its own. Maybe it was the last of his brother’s influence.

But the fact remained that Venero sent Gemma a dream of the memory he was most trying to avoid.

And worse, because he wasn’t as focused on his task as would have been ideal, Gemma experienced the moment as Arista would have remembered it. As soon as the dream left Venero, he regretted it. It was sloppy DreamCasting, no matter how he looked at it.

Turned out he was a bit out of practice.

But maybe there was another reason that Venero sent Gemma a dream of Arista’s invitation to him. Maybe he thought it a mistake, but maybe, his magic knew better.

As reluctant as he was to share his secrets, Venero’s magic might have known that Gemma would never fulfill her destiny as his true love without knowing a little bit more.

* * *

The flames of the candles flickered in a slight breeze within the cave, their light seeming to bring the fresh symbols on the wall to life. She had brought the dye to perform the ritual, but had never anticipated finding a cave so perfect. Her heart glowed that her companion had ensured it was so.

The marks appeared to undulate on the walls once the circle was complete, or even to dance. As she watched, as fascinated as ever, one morphed into another, their meaning changing before her very eyes. She could feel her companion’s sense of wonder and was encouraged that they had this response in common. No matter how many times she painted the marks, they still filled her with awe.

With a fingertip, she made the last mark on the wall, the mark of her name. It glowed for a moment, as if the dye was filled with sparks, and a flame seemed to pass around the perimeter of the cavern.

“It is done,” she whispered, hearing her companion turn in place to look.

She began to paint the symbols on her own skin, humming as she entered the meditative state suitable for this ritual. The dye flowed from her fingertip, forming the traditional shapes as if they were destined to be. The cave was charged with a sense of promise and possibility. She was aware of her companion watching her, and the hair seemed to tingle on the back of her neck.

It wasn’t the only part of her that tingled.

When she was done, she lifted her hands high over her head and looked up at them. Her fingers stretched toward the heavens, and her feet were dusty with the soil of Regalia.

“The marks echo the transition from sky to earth, representing all the elements I will bring to bear when I enter battle,” she informed her companion, who walked around her, looking. She preened. “Together, they form a coat of armor, a skin of ink and symbol, that will focus my spirit and protect me at war.”

She turned in place, displaying herself proudly. There were intricate pentacles painted on the palms of her hands, then stars and moons flowed down her arms. Wings were painted on her shoulders and coiling snakes wound around her torso to her belly, where the open mouth of a great serpent surrounded her navel. Flowers and leaves were painted on her hips and thighs, with the waves of the sea frothing about her calves. A starfish was painted on the top of each foot, and a turtle on the bottom of each one.

“These are the ancient marks of the Warrior Maidens of Cumae,” she whispered, then offered the small cup of dye. “They are modified for each of us, to better defend us in our specific vulnerabilities.”

“I didn’t think you had any vulnerabilities.”

“Is that why you are so wary of me?”

“It’s disconcerting, to say the least.”

“You’re in no hurry to share your vulnerabilities.”

He laughed. “Stupidity isn’t one of them.”

“Do you distrust everyone?”

“Just those I can’t anticipate.”

“What if I choose to trust you? Would that reveal more of what you could anticipate from me?” She smiled when he didn’t reply, and turned her back on him. “Will you continue the patterns, that my back is defended as well?”

She felt that warm fingertip, tracing the talons of great birds upon her shoulder blades, beneath the lines that echoed feathered wings. The talons would be grasping the uppermost coil of the great serpent and she closed her eyes, welcoming the power of all these predators within her.

By the time her back was covered in symbols, her breath was coming quickly and she was aroused, but not just from the ritual and the promise of battle. Her companion’s fingertip lifted from her skin just as she felt the shimmer of heat that marked the completion of the body’s preparation.

“They’re on fire!”

“Not yet.” She took a deep breath, and she turned around for the last mark.

The one that would be painted on her brow. The one that would open her third eye to the possibilities of the future. The one that would allow her to anticipate and see beyond the moment. The one that would set her aflame.

Even at the sight of him, an unruly desire heated her blood, and she awakened to a possibility she’d never considered before. She was maiden and warrior, her chastity part of her power, her duty all that defined her. But this man made her think for the first time of what she sacrificed in the pledge she’d made.

Until this assignment, companionship had been sufficient.

In this moment, Arista wanted more.

He was a fine man, but it was more than that. His chestnut hair hung to his shoulders, wavy and thick. His nose had been broken at some point in time and had healed with a slight kink. He was taller than she and his shoulders were broad, his body taut and strong. His gaze was steady, he spoke only truth, and he was both resolute and steadfast. He’d shown his valor and she trusted him, trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone other than her Sword Sister. His eyes were the hue of amber and when their gazes locked, she knew her choice was made.

He was a warrior through and through, just like her. He was still dressed, though his weapons had been laid aside. He honored her ritual but did not intrude. He was her companion in this world, her guide, and her ally.

But he had also stolen her heart.

She would not enter this battle as a maiden.

Whatever the price, the sacrifice would be worth it.

She leaned closer, placed one hand on his shoulder, then reached to brush her lips across his. She felt his surprise. She thought it irrelevant. “I am yours for the taking, Venero,” she whispered. “After this night, I will be a maiden no more.”

* * *

Venero knew that there was no point regretting the dream.

What was done was done.

And the good news was that Gemma
did
dream.

She might feel the need to kill him, but she wasn’t a cyborg. And he might have a fighting chance in a battle between them, since her dragon was currently unavailable.

Venero shook the water out of his hair and strode toward the cavern where Gemma slept, filled with vigor and purpose. It was so good to be back in his familiar form, and to have the powers back that he had once taken for granted. He felt clean and whole and strong. He took great satisfaction in how quickly he covered the distance to the cavern where Gemma had taken refuge.

He wanted to see her again.

He wanted her to see him.

The pavofel met him on the threshold and looked him up and down. Its tail flicked and its whiskers twitched, but it didn’t even try to block his path. Instead, it strolled to the other side of the cavern and curled up to sleep.

Venero grinned that he didn’t look like such easy prey anymore. He turned to consider Gemma and his chest tightened.

Warrior and woman. How could he have imagined that he wanted anyone less.

Gemma was curled in a cloak in the middle of the cavern and he was glad that she had fallen asleep. A candle burned below the medallion painted on the walls, the one that had Arista’s mark. That Gemma was asleep gave him a chance to look at her, to admire her, to observe her. She stretched and murmured, his name upon her lips.

Venero smiled. He could see the painted marks on Gemma’s feet where they emerged from beneath the warmth of the cloak, and he eased closer. Had she painted herself as Arista had done?

He wanted to see.

No, he burned to see.

Venero lifted the cloak slowly, revealing Gemma’s nudity to his gaze. He surveyed the marks that adorned her skin, smiling at their familiarity, noting their differences. He saw her take a sharp breath. She frowned and he feared the worst, then suddenly she rolled over. Venero’s smile returned when he realized she’d turned her back to him.

It was a gesture that spoke of trust.

Of welcoming a companion she trusted to defend her back.

The little pot of dye was set to one side, and there was still dark liquid in it. Gemma’s back was devoid of the symbols that covered the rest of her skin, but Venero knew what had to be done.

He wasn’t her Sword Sister, not by any means, but he would help. He’d done this before, after all.

And if Gemma made the same offer that Arista had, Venero wouldn’t decline.

Chapter Six

Gemma awakened with the conviction that she wasn’t alone.

She kept her eyes closed and reviewed what had to have been a dream. She wasn’t sharing the cavern with a man—much less one so handsome as the one she’d just seen—and she had lit only one lantern in the cavern. In her dream, she had sounded like Arista, and her figure had been boyish like that of Arista. Her thinking had shown the crisp precision that she associated with Arista.

She had dreamed of Arista’s night in this cave.

With Venero.

Had Arista really offered herself to him? If Gemma hadn’t shared the thoughts of her Sword Sister, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. Arista had been less emotional than any of the other Warrior Maidens, and her dedication to her trade had been beyond question.

But this Venero had changed her mind.

By stealing her heart.

The power of Arista’s love had been compelling. Gemma wished she had dreamed a little more. What was it like to fall in love? How had Venero’s kiss felt? Was sex different when you were in love?

Gemma took a deep breath and smelled the skin of another person. The hair prickled on the back of her neck and she wished she could shift shape to surprise the intruder. Irritation rose within her at Urbanus for cheating her of her most powerful gift. Fortunately, she had other skills. She listened, feigning sleep, and waited.

Where was Felice?

Gemma heard the cup of dye scrape against the stone. The intruder was lifting it, perhaps sniffing it, trying to identify its contents.

She heard a soft step as he or she approached, then was surrounded by the scent of the Seed. Before she could clear her thoughts, a fingertip landed on her back.

It was warm. It was wet. It traced the curve of a feather, the kind of feathers that Arista had chosen to defend the backs of her shoulders. Gemma caught her breath.

The Carrier had come to her. Her heart swelled.

“Hold still, sleeping beauty,” a man said, his voice low with humor. “I’ve only done this once before.”

His finger moved with confidence, belying his words, and Gemma blinked.

He sounded like the man in her dream.

“Venero?”

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted and the echo of the toad’s words made Gemma smile.

She sat up and turned, only to find the man from her dream squatted behind her. He smiled crookedly, his eyes gleaming amber and warm with appreciation. He had broken his nose once. He was tall and powerful. He was no toad, even if his eyes were the same glorious hue.