Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
Reaching the drape of patched-together hides that saddles the mammoth beast, Kaan battles the final few loops, then tosses his leg over the saddle and thumps me into his lap.
Straddling him, I look up into his eyes, mouth dropping open, battered breathless by his immense presence. He looks down upon me, his rough exhale pouring over my upturned face
—the air between us becoming charged with a static that makes my skin pebble.
Creators.
Drenched in the smell of leather and the heady blend of his intoxicating scent, this tightening feeling low in my belly yearns for something every other part of me is utterly opposed to, and I consider whether it’s prudent to ask this male if he’d like to fuck before I slit his throat …
Probably shouldn’t.
“You have until the count of ten to decide which way you want to sit, at which stage I’ll kick Rygun into the sky and you’ll be stuck that way,” Kaan grinds out past gritted teeth, my heart plummeting a little more with each condemning word.
I open my mouth, about to spit something sharp when he says, “One … Two …”
Shit.
I wiggle, heaving my right leg up, getting a foothold atop his thigh.
“Three … Four …”
I try wrestling to a stand but lose my balance and flop back down again, face-planting against his chest as he rumbles a deep “Five.”
“Count slower,” I growl, flattening my hands upon his abdomen, introducing myself to a stack of muscles that feel more like rocks …
My mouth dries.
“Six,” he says, his voice gravel against my pebbling skin. “Seven.”
Definitely need to move.
I kick my foot up again and shove to a wobbly stand.
“Eight …”
I turn so I’m facing forward, heart pounding hard and fast as I glance around us, my feet tingling with the sudden realization of how high up we are.
That this is our starting point.
“Nine
…”
Creators, slay this male.
I let my feet slide either side of the saddle, landing perfectly between his legs so hard I garner a deep grunt from him that brings me a burst of satisfaction.
“Ten,” I chirp, and he clears his throat, reaching between us to readjust himself—no doubt throbbing with the wrong kind of ache.
I smile.
“Feel free to drop me off at the nearest village. I can find my way from there,” I say, deciding it’s a good time to strike now that the male’s cock is bruised. Figure I have two ways to relieve myself of his presence: kill him or make myself disposable.
“Like it or not,” he grinds out, gripping my waist and lifting me, settling me into a more comfortable position—so flush against him my cheeks burn for reasons other than the stifling heat. “You’re coming with me to Dhomm.”
My heart pitches.
Dhomm …
So few go to The Burn’s capital and return.
So fucking few.
Probably because they all end up inside the beast I’m currently seated atop. Either that or the city has jaws and claws and teeth much sharper than that of the one I just marginally escaped.
I open my mouth, about to spit a barbed rebuttal, when Kaan reaches past me and grips the tug-ropes. “Guthunda, Rygun.
Guthunda
!”
The beast heaves beneath us, blowing a steaming breath as he pushes up from his crouched position, making me feel as if the entire world is swaying side to side.
“Hold the leather strap,” Kaan rumbles near my ear, sending tingles down the side of my neck and making my breath hitch.
Snarling, I grip the damn strap. “You know what I hate?”
“Being told what to do?” he answers, quick as a blink.
“Exactly.”
“Well,” he says, giving the strip of leather a yank, like he’s testing my grip on the thing. Something I find deeply offensive, seeing as I don’t do anything by halves. “It’s a relief to know you possess a drip of self-preservation.”
“I’d rather possess that blade down the inside of your boot,” I grouse as the beast folds his wings flush against his body.
I sense the flow of energy building in Rygun’s bunched haunches before he leaps into the sky with a booming slash of his wings, gravity thrusting me into Kaan’s chest so hard all the breath bursts from my lungs.
We propel up …
Up …
Any words I had are swallowed into the depths of my tumbling guts, my grip tightening on the strap. My head tucks back into the crook of Kaan’s throat, his heart a fierce sledge against my spine, powering in unison with the thump of Rygun’s wings.
We whisk through a wispy tuft of cloud, then level out, the entire world seeming to regain its balance.
I pull my first breath since we shoved off the sand, blown out with a shaken exhale.
I miss the dragon’s mouth. It was wet, it reeked, and there was a high chance of being swallowed, but at least I wasn’t clinging to life by a single strap of leather, pressed close to a male who smells too good to flay.
“You okay?” Kaan asks close to my ear, and every cell in my body prickles with awareness.
I dare a peek over Rygun’s side, expecting to be severed with fear as I take in the world below, the barren plains stretching far and wide in all directions like a ripple of rusty water. Instead, something tangible swells within my chest. Something that makes me want to spread my arms, tip my head, and release a deep belly laugh that’s raw and real and so fucking wholesome it makes me want to …
Cry.
“Answer me, Moonbeam.”
There’s an edge to his voice that whips me from my reverie. Reminds me that I’m a prisoner of yet another vicious Vaegor—dancing from one shackle to the next.
The world shreds past beneath us while I mull over Kaan’s question …
Am I okay?
“Yes,” I whisper, cradling the strange, giddy feeling with a gentleness I didn’t realize I possessed, worried it’ll break if I squeeze too hard. “I’m okay.”
The Creators are so quiet now, their voices vacant echoes barely loud enough to grasp.
I’m not sure why.
Perhaps the Aether Stone is taking so much of me there’s little left to listen with.
That’s how it feels. Like my soul’s being suckled through the diadem’s web of tendrils now magnetized to my skull.
I hate it.