Wyvern's Prince (The Dragons of Incendium Book 2) (6 page)

“The wedding,” he prompted.

“I believe your mother contributed to its success, as well.”

“No doubt she did,” he said, with an interesting tinge of bitterness. “But it’s typical, isn’t it?” Urbanus cupped her nape in his hand, tipped her head back, and kissed her beneath her chin. His lips burned a trail toward her nipple, which he teased with lips and tongue and teeth until Gemma wanted to moan aloud.

When had she burned with such need?

The Seed must amplify normal urges.

“I don’t understand,” she said, dismissive of conversation. Before Urbanus could reply, Gemma framed his face in her hands, backed him into the wall and kissed him with savage force. Her new spouse, instead of being appalled, met her touch for touch. He seized her buttocks and lifted her against him. Their kiss was passionate and hungry, and Gemma could feel the leap of his pulse beneath her fingertips, even as her own raced. His hands were under her shift, her knees were rising to his waist, their mouths were locked together in passionate fury.

Felice meowed with apparent disapproval but Gemma didn’t care. She wanted the Seed and she wanted it immediately.

Chapter Two

It was Urbanus who locked his hands around Gemma’s waist and broke their kiss, putting distance between them. His eyes were sparkling and his breath came as quickly as Gemma’s. She might have protested his move, but he put a finger on her lips.

“Don’t you?”

Once again, Gemma had a hard time recalling the thread of the conversation. Her body burned for satisfaction, the Seed demanded to be planted, and she was impatient with Urbanus and his need to chatter. She tried to kiss him again but he evaded her.

She gave serious consideration to shifting shape, toasting him into submission, then having her way with him.

But it would be rude.

And it would put him on his guard, when she needed him to relax.

“I think you do understand, but you’re not sure that I would share your view. Let’s have honesty between us, Gemma. I think you believe that we have very little in common, but I know you’re wrong.”

Gemma was intrigued. “Do you?” she asked, then reached for his erection. He caught his breath when she closed her hand around his strength, and she watched his nostrils pinch in pleasure.

“I do,” he said, a most enticing strain in his voice, then lifted her hand away. “And I’ll prove it to you.”

“Does it have to be now?”

Urbanus laughed. “Yes, but I’ll be quick, my lustful bride.” He reached for the tie at the front of her gown, and unfastened it deliberately as he spoke. “I think it’s typical that you and I are left to clean up the messes created by our older siblings. It’s the fate of the second child.”

He opened her gown and smiled at her bared breasts, then placed his hands beneath the sheer garment and pushed it over her shoulders. This was progress. Gemma tipped her head back at the feel of his palms on her skin and shook her shoulders so that the gown fell to the ground. Urbanus made a murmur of satisfaction when she was nude before him, and his hands fell to her breasts. He kneaded the nipples between finger and thumb, making Gemma twitch with need. She reached for the tie of his chemise, making quick work of the knot.

“We’re never seen to be as special or wonderful or praiseworthy as the first-born, no matter what our older sibling might do. And when that sibling fails—as Canto and Drakina
did
fail to secure the alliance between our two kingdoms—then the obligation to make it all come right falls to us. The second born.”

Gemma only let him talk because it was clear he meant to have his say before she had her satisfaction. Her mind was filled with need, and she would do whatever was necessary to urge him toward their mutual pleasure.

She pushed his chemise over his shoulders, sparing a glance to his nudity. Why had she thought there was anything wrong with softness? “You didn’t have to marry one of Incendium’s princesses,” she said, pressing a kiss to his nipple. His hands closed around her waist and he lifted her against him.

Urbanus laughed. “You don’t know my mother well, do you?” He bent, his words intent as he murmured into her ear. She was more interested in his erection and how she might coax it to be closer to the size of Farquon’s most impressive member. “But understand, Gemma, that when it was made clear to me that I should do so, I didn’t choose you because you were next in the lineage.” He claimed her chin and compelled her to meet his gaze. “I chose you specifically because we are the same.”

His eyes were a thousand hues of blue, more marvelous to behold than she had realized. His gaze was filled with a surety that echoed the conviction in her own soul. He must be right. They were the same. They were destined to be together because they had been made for each other. How had Gemma ever doubted the allure of her spouse?

Urbanus watched as he traced a line on her cheek with his fingertip. “We’re both unafraid to do what has to be done, Gemma.”

That was true enough.

“We’re both bold enough to act for the greater good.”

Gemma’s growing sense that she and Urbanus had a great deal in common was unassailable. It was truth. Their bond was right. Warmth flooded through her from her heart, an overwhelming sense that destiny had been fulfilled.

The Seed called.

Gemma itched to have it within her.

Urbanus really should shut up.

But he kept talking. “You’re here not just because your father negotiated the marriage, but because a royal astrologer declared that I am the Carrier of the Seed.” Urbanus arched a brow and she was awed that he alone should have discerned the truth. “Am I not right?”

“You know you are.”

“So, it’s fated to be,” he said and kissed her lingeringly once again. “It’s our destiny and our choice to save our kingdoms with a union and a son.”

“Except that there’s Gravitas now,” Gemma said, reminding her of Drakina’s son and the heir to the crown of Incendium.

Urbanus chuckled, his fingers sliding into her hair, his possessive grip making her shiver. “You’ve been listening to a MindBender,” he accused, solemnity lurking beneath his playful tone. “I thought you would know better than to be so beguiled, Gemma.”

Beguiled
.

Yes. That’s what she felt. The realization flitted through her thoughts, along with the reminder of that warning. Gemma recalled those two little pricks and the sensation they had sent through her. Kraw had said that Urbanus dealt in spells, herbal mixtures that provoked a physiological reaction in the victim. Then she felt a third prick, one on the back of her neck. She opened her eyes even as fire flowed through her veins and her body capitulated to Urbanus and his amorous assault.

“What have you done to me?” she asked, her words slow and her own voice almost unfamiliar.

“Ensured that you couldn’t cheat me, my beautiful bride,” Urbanus confessed with a smile. He lifted his hand and she saw the small brace on his thumb, one that held a tiny thorn in place. His eyes shone with satisfaction and she realized that there had been some toxin upon it. He flicked it from his finger and cast it into the forest far below, clearly proud of his deceit.

“We are the same, my Gemma,” he whispered darkly. “Each intent upon our own objective to the exclusion of all others. Today, I won.” He smiled. “I eagerly await your retribution.”

Gemma should have been appalled. She should have needed vengeance. But instead, she was falling asleep, powerless against whatever toxin he had given her.

In that moment, something fell with a crash in the chamber beyond her own. Urbanus stepped back, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Who’s there?” he called, stepping toward the connecting door.

There was another crash.

Urbanus thrust Gemma aside and strode to the door, flinging it open and returning to his own chamber. She barely heard the sound of the key turning in the lock, securing her in her prison once more.

She was going to fall.

She made it to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress before her knees gave out beneath her weight. Gemma rolled to her back, against her own volition. Her legs parted, seemingly of their own volition, and once in that position, she was powerless to move.

She had been enchanted.

Because she had failed to take the voice’s advice.

And now it was too late. A languid tide rolled through her body, making it impossible for her to keep her eyes open or lift a hand—much less to kill her spouse.

Her perfect plan had been foiled.

And Gemma hated Urbanus more than she had ever hated anyone in her life.

Vengeance would be hers, Gemma resolved, and then she knew no more.

* * *

Something had to be done.

Venero had watched Gemma succumb to Urbanus’ spell, despite the warning he’d given her. He was horrified by his brother’s obvious intention of making his new wife helpless. The import of that couldn’t be good.

And it was hardly a fair fight.

Independent of his own agenda, Venero had to save her.

He hopped as quickly across the room and forced his way through the gap beneath the door to Urbanus’ bedchamber. It was a tight fit and he scratched his back getting through the gap, but there wasn’t a moment to waste.

Once in the chamber, Venero leaped to a table and kicked a lantern to the floor. It hadn’t been lit, but the oil had recently been refilled. The glass vessel shattered, making a satisfactory sound, and the oil spread across the floor.

“Who’s there?” Urbanus demanded, his voice sharp.

Of course, he had locked the door to his chamber and dismissed the servants. There shouldn’t be an intruder in his sanctuary. Venero eyed another table, its surface crowded with vials and vessels. It was a bit farther than his usual range, but he didn’t want to jump down into the oil.

Urbanus might start a fire to be rid of him.

Venero heard his brother’s approaching footsteps. He took a deep breath, gathering his strength, and leaped for the other table. He barely made it and didn’t manage a graceful landing. In fact, he crashed into a number of glass items and sent them toppling. He barged through the rest, sending many of them crashing to the floor, then jumped off the far side.

He had to hide!

He made it to the shadow beneath the bed by the time Urbanus crossed the threshold. His brother was still, his gaze seeking the culprit in the shadows, and Venero eased backward just a little.

“It can only be you, brother mine,” Urbanus whispered, and Venero’s heart skipped a beat that he’d revealed himself. He didn’t regret the choice, though. Urbanus had to learn that he couldn’t have everything his way. “Show yourself willingly, and I’ll be kinder.”

Venero wasn’t going to bet on that.

“I can coax you out,” Urbanus said, his voice melodic. “You know I can entice you to reveal yourself, no matter what you plan.”

Venero remained completely still. He tried to close his ears against any spell Urbanus might cast.

His brother took another step and reached for a flint. Venero had time to fear that his brother would inadvertently start a fire and that all opportunity for his own salvation would be lost, along with Gemma’s free will.

Then Urbanus slipped in the oil. He lost his balance, swore, and hit the floor with a thud. There was a loud crack.

Followed by silence.

Venero feared a trick. He waited half an eternity, but there was no sound from his brother. He crept out of the shadows, slowly, cautiously, only to find Urbanus unconscious on the floor, a trickle of blood on his temple.

Venero didn’t wait to see more. He didn’t have time for relief. He skirted the perimeter of the room as quickly as he could, squeezed under the door again, and leaped onto the marital bed. The princess was sprawled there on her back, snoring softly. Her position told Venero all he needed to know about his brother’s plans for consummating the marriage, with or without the bride’s agreement or participation. Even from their short acquaintance, he knew Gemma wouldn’t sleep in such a vulnerable pose.

“Wake up!” he whispered. “This is our chance to escape!”

Gemma gave no sign that she’d heard him.

Venero jumped on her belly, to no visible response. He jumped again and again. He flicked his tongue against her cheek and even though it stuck for a moment before releasing and must have tugged the skin, she slept on. He pulled her hair, grabbing a tendril of it in his mouth and jumping as far as he could so that it tugged at the root.

Gemma couldn’t be stirred.

Had Urbanus given her a spell to sleep for a thousand years?

His ineffectiveness was frustrating and infuriating. He couldn’t just sweep her up and save her. He couldn’t solve the situation. He couldn’t even wake her up. Venero had never felt so powerless in his life.

He was giving serious consideration to the idea of kissing Gemma, right on the lips, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything to help his curse—but just because it might wake her up—when there was a sudden blur of blue and green.

The pavofel leaped to the bed beside its mistress. It crouched, tail lashing and eyes gleaming, and Venero didn’t dare to linger. He jumped from the bed, barely escaping the pavofel’s swiping paw, and fled to sanctuary beneath that chest of drawers. The pavofel followed, and slashed beneath the chest with claws bared. Venero retreated so that he was pressed against the wall, apparently out of range of the beast.