“It’s ritual,” she said again. “The marriage of the Law and the Story if you like. I was jealous too the first time. You shouldn’t be.”

  No, he shouldn’t.

  Drawn in spite of himself, Michael turned back to the arena. Danna stood alone in the centre of the ring, head bowed, wings outstretched in a pose at once achingly vulnerable and sexy as hell. Michael became aware of the painful hardness in his jeans that only got worse as he stared at the still figure. So he shifted his gaze, searching for Aurel and finding him kneeling before the king while the king’s teeth were buried in his neck.

  Blood-lust rose furiously with all the rest. For an instant, it overwhelmed him. The intensity of emotion he normally kept at bay through work and physical action now threatened to consume him in lust and mayhem. Hot and furious, his eyes sought Danna once more, and oddly, the quiet beauty of her stance calmed him. Slowly, he fought and won the battle, and dared to breathe again.

  The dancer lifted her head. The harp strummed, and Michael realized it had only begun. This was Danna’s time.

  She danced an ancient battle, her limbs forming great, grotesque shapes, and sudden, deathly violence. Fierce warrior pride emanated from her, rousing and uplifting. And as she danced, her body changed, mistily at first, so that he blinked to clear his eyes. Slowly, she became the dragon, awesome and splendid.

  Michael had seen the lupi of the City become wolves. He had been with Beth through her early changes, before she’d learned to control it. And with Eve, who controlled it in a different way. He knew the physical agony they suffered. Danna shifted like a mist, shimmering between whirling woman and tail-beating, fire-blasting dragon as she fought and danced, making him live the story of tragedy and victory and ultimate retreat.

  It was shattering. And when the dragon lay down in her death throes, Michael, who hadn’t cried since he was five years old, almost wept.

  The audience greeted the end in stricken silence. Their grief weighed him down. And then, the music began again, a quiet rhythmic beat sounded on the harp strings.

  The dragon on the ground shimmered once more, became the woman, and the woman moved to the rhythm, an arching of her naked back, then her hips thrust erotically upward, and she swung lithely into a sitting position as the melody began.

  Heat rose in Michael, threatening to blind him. But this was a dance of joy, designed to lift the grief into a mood of fun and jollity. Danna’s eyes shone with vitality. She smiled and danced a sheer love of all life, perfectly comfortable with her nudity, still manipulating her audience. Around Michael, echoing his own involuntary smile, he could hear laughter, felt a warmth and companionship that was beguiling. And yet beneath it, arousal still simmered, because she was naked to his gaze. And the most beautiful, sensual being he had ever seen or imagined.

  Sweat glistened on her smooth skin. Her full, dark-tipped breasts heaved with exertion, but still she danced on into the next story of a great love that had once saved the Dragul race.

  If her dance with Aurel had been arousing, this one was explosive. Sinuous and flexible, her body writhed its sensual magic, her long naked limbs stretching and curving. With each seductive parting of those luscious legs, she granted tantalizing glimpses of her sweet, hairless pussy, until Michael thought he’d burst out of his jeans. And then, almost finishing the job, she gazed directly at him.

  At first, he thought it was just his fevered imagination, his own powerful desire that she dance for him, and even managed to laugh at himself as she spun around the arena. But then, coming to a halt with her back to him, she enfolded her body in her own arms while she undulated her hips and buttocks, and looked back over her shoulder, directly at him. Her eyes smouldered, sweat trembled on her upper lip, and she smiled.

  That was when he lost the story completely. He didn’t care about the great love she portrayed. He cared about her wanting him. The lust in her eyes might have been faked for the dance, but God, she cared enough to level it at him, and he was damned if he’d pass that up for anyone or anything.

  He stared right back at her with burning eyes, let her see, if she could, every ounce of desire she inspired in him. He let her see it in his mind too. He didn’t care what else she saw.

  Her eyes widened, perceptibly, and he knew she had seen, knew it was not his imagination. She smiled, hot and sultry, and thrust her breasts out toward him. He was desperate to caress and lick them, see them peak at his touch, not just to the eyes of a hundred watchers…

  The rhythm of the dance grew more frenzied, until Michael found he too was sweating in the chilly night air. He didn’t care. He was consumed by the dance. He felt the love, the desire she portrayed, and gratefully, he sank into it. He was her lover. She had surrendered to him, welcomed his hands on her soft, yielding flesh. He lay above her, thrusting into her tight, hot wetness, lost in her body’s joy, her moans of pleasure…

  She danced on, around the arena, yet always she came back to him, her eyes seeking him, her body tempting and teasing him. Dazed, only half in the real-world, the rest of him still lost in the vivid fantasy of her erotic dance, Michael gazed back at her. Perhaps she thought she was safe in the dance, but Christ, when she finished…

  She finished, climactically, her body arched wickedly from toes to hands reaching out over her head. Her thrusting breasts stood proud in the torchlight, aureoles dark and nipples peaked and distended.

  Michael found himself panting as if he’d been chasing some villain across the City all night. Deliberately, he sought to control it, while his eyes followed her greedily in her unwinding bow, her proud, graceful walk across the arena to receive the king’s thanks. And his bite.

  As she knelt, the king’s fingers gripped her naked shoulders, his head bent to her angled neck.

  Michael gasped aloud as Vasil’s teeth pierced her skin. He could hear her heart pounding, feel the ecstasy of the blood drawn from her veins. He wanted to close his eyes, shut out the unbearable sight, but he couldn’t and it would have made no difference anyway. He could still feel…

  He felt he was there with her. That while the king drank from her, he knelt behind her, the weight of her breasts heavy in his hands as he caressed them, rhythmically brushing his thumbs across her taut, excited nipples. He felt his cock slide inside her with excruciating pleasure. At the same time, he bent to her neck, on the opposite side to the king, and sank his teeth into her throat.

  They both drank from her together. He could hear all three of their drumming heartbeats, drowned in the strong, thick smell of her blood as it spilled over his lips and down his throat. He pushed his cock into her, hard, and groaned…

  The groan was loud, jolting him out of the fantasy. Hers or his, or someone else’s entirely, it was impossible to tell.

  Slowly, the king straightened, inclining his head to Danna in polite thanks. Her breasts rose and fell, reminding Michael unbearably of how they had felt in his hands. His fantasy hands.

  The blood still sang in Michael’s ears. Fury, jealousy, desire, all vied for release, and he could do nothing about any of them. Not yet. She rose from the king, who flung a white tunic neatly over her head to cover her nakedness.

  And then her eyes flickered again toward Michael, uncertainty now among their still smouldering depths. That’s when he knew the fantasy had been hers.

  Joy exploded inside him, fiercely triumphant.

  He smiled at her, wicked and predatory, and her step faltered. He rose from his seat, and went to her. Only then did he realize that all around him, the Dragul were embracing, dancing, making love. Aurel held Beth in his arms, and Michael could swear he was drinking from her throat. It all added to his strange, wild arousal.

  The Dragon Dancer lifted her gaze slowly to his. Her hectic flush, her trembling body, her lust-filled eyes, all betrayed her, but still she tried to reclaim the distance between them. She inclined her head.

  “Oh no,” Michael said softly. “You can’t go back there. Not now. I want my dance.”

  He took her hand, drawing her with him, three steps backward until his back jammed against the table, and he drew her in. She was hot, shaking with exertion or desire, he didn’t know which, only that it excited him unbearably. He put his arms around her, feeling at last in reality that soft, pliant flesh…

  For an instant, she held herself rigid in his hold. He had time to wonder, frantically, if he had got it all wrong, if there was nothing there but her art, and if he would have to let her go…

  And then she began to move. Supple limbs slid against his. Her hips swayed against his hardness, making him groan softly into her hair. She smelled of heady roses, and fresh, sweet air, and warm, pumping blood…

  His breath caught. He moved with her, heard her own breathless little gasps.

  “What now?” he said, running his hands up and down her back, stroking the strange, suede-like wings. Her whole back shivered and undulated to his touch.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I have my dance, and I love it. I mean I want more. I want your blood, I want your whole body. I want you.”

  For the first time, her hands touched him, reaching around his neck, stroking the hair at his nape, then clinging there. She said, “Who is Eve?”

  He froze. Following him, her movement stilled. Slowly, he raised his head from her hair and looked down into her face. Soft. Lustful. Sorrowful. How did all that get in there?

  He didn’t want to talk about Eve. He couldn’t talk about Eve to anyone, let alone to her. The silence stretched between them. All he could hear was the beat of his own heart and hers, too fast, too needy.

  She smiled, a quiet, gentle smile of loss, and stepped back out of his arms. She had already turned and begun to walk away before he realized what she was doing.

  No, damn it, I will not let her spoil this! Maybe it changes nothing, but this is for me!

  In two strides, he had caught her arm, finding and seizing her hand to pull her onward, away from the tables.

  Chapter Four

  Twisting her hand in an effort to free it from his bruising hold, she burst into panicked speech, “Michael, you don’t want this! It’s your -- ah!” She broke off, stumbling back against the trunk of an old oak tree, as his mouth slammed into hers, rough, hard, conquering, forcing her lips apart for his invasion.

  In all her life, no one had touched her like that. It made her weak and helpless. And hot as fire.

  After the first instant’s stunned stillness, her mouth yielded without permission, opening further for him. She found her hands clutching him for support, for strength. For need.

  He gave a half-laugh of triumph, and pushed his tongue deeper inside. His body pressed her back into the tree, grazing her wings, depriving her of breath. She didn’t care. His big, rock-hard cock ground into her crotch, devastating her. She had never felt fire like this. Moisture erupted, trickling down her legs.

  With a sob, she clutched his head closer to her, sucking on his tongue, pushing her own deep inside his mouth, licking his teeth and gums. She fought with him now for domination of the kiss, while her hips struggled to move, to dance between the tree and his crushing body. He adjusted his position to let her, and groaned aloud, tearing his mouth free to stare down at her.

  His eyes blazed in the darkness, frightening her with the intensity of his lust, and yet she gloried in that look, in his body, wanted his mouth back.

  “Eve is my friend, my lover.”

  He kissed her again, as if to wipe out the pain she couldn’t hide.

  “Eve is your One,” she said in his mind.

  “No. Eve is not my One, but it seems we have too much history to admit it. Eve does not love me.”

  Again, he took his mouth from her. Soft, rueful laughter shook his body. “Christ, I pick my times and places to bare my soul.” He stared down at her, his expression changing to something approaching wonder. Slowly, he lifted one hand and touched her face. Moisture glistened on his fingers. She hadn’t meant to cry, not for him or for her, or the girl who was not his One.

  “Danna, dance with me,” he whispered. “Just dance, don’t weep… Tonight, for you and for me…”

  With a gasp, she reached up with her mouth, fastening it to his, letting him devour her while she danced with her hips, with her whole body. She sobbed when his hand swept over her breast and closed, seeking and finding her peaked, aching nipple.

  It wasn’t enough. Briefly, he tried to find a way inside her tunic, then simply took it in his fist and ripped it, and at last her naked flesh was under his fingers, trembling into his touch. His other hand swept downward over the curve of her hip, pushing aside the lingering fabric of her tunic, caressing her buttocks and thigh, and sliding round to the hot wetness between. Sensitive, yet joyously direct, his fingers opened her labia, slid caressingly across her clitoris to her pulsing entrance.

  Again he groaned. “Christ, I want to be in there…”

  She stood on tiptoe and parted her legs further. It was the only invitation she was capable of, and he accepted it without hesitation. A brief fumbling at his trousers, an adjustment of position, and she felt the hot, hard length of his cock between her thighs, seeking and unerringly finding the slickness of her desperately weeping entrance. Without pause, he pushed his cock all the way in.

  She cried out, and would have fallen, had it not been for the pressure of his body pinning her to the tree. He filled her, not just her vagina, but her whole awareness. She couldn’t prevent the small, animal noises that escaped her, as she rocked on him, pushing her body even further onto his shaft, circling and returning.

  He seized her mouth again and pulled his hips back, almost leaving her before he pushed his cock back all the way, hard, making her whimper and writhe. After that it was wild and fast, a furious fucking that neither was capable of stopping.

  She spread her wings wide, partly to protect them from the tree, but mostly to express her growing joy. Seeing it, his handsome face suffused with delight. His hand reached behind her, touching one of the trembling wings, this time on the soft, ultra-sensitive underside, and when she moaned, he drew it nearer to him, and actually covered the tip of it with his mouth.

  Oh goddess! The pleasure was so intense, shooting straight down her wings to her core, that she galloped now toward the ultimate fulfilment. As he drove into her, he flicked his tongue over the soft underside of her wing, in perfect time with his thumb across her nipple, and she shook into violent orgasm, clenching around his shaft until with one final, devastating thrust, he joined her.

  Her knees buckled under the furious onslaught of pleasure, and although he had to support himself with his palm against the tree, he still held her up with his free arm while the tide of convulsions grew and held and slowly ebbed away. He stood against her, panting, teasing her gently with deliberate twitches of his cock inside her.

  Slowly, making her shudder with renewed pleasure, he slid his mouth along her wing and released it. “I must remember that one,” he said huskily, and kissed her mouth again.

  Gradually, as normal awareness returned, the sounds of their surroundings began to drift back: the music and laughter from the garden, the distant hooting of an owl, and the soft rush of the breeze through leaves and long grass. The scent she would now always associate with Michael filled her senses: faint, fresh sweat and herbal cleanser mixed with the earthiness that was his alone. And his mouth, tenderly caressing hers outside and in.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips. “I was too rough. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You drive me so wild…”

  Light as a butterfly’s wing, his finger traced the contour of her lips, bruised and swollen from his passion. His remorse flooded her, enchanted her. She smiled, catching and kissing his finger. “Well,” she said, “I am willing to be shown another side of you.”

  Deliberately, she left the timing open, holding his attention with her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the interest they had already collected. She would use no pressure, had to leave the choice to him. And yet her heart beat and beat with hope, her throat constricted with the effort of hiding her own wishes.

  His hot, clouded eyes had grown watchful. “When?” he said.

  “The choice is yours.”

  He smiled. The predatory glint flashed again in his eyes, and her heart turned over. “How about now?”

  She touched her forehead to his, covering her relief, her happiness.

  “Come on,” he urged. “Do your thing with the tunic I so carelessly tore, and let’s slip away to wherever you live…”

  As he spoke, he stepped back to adjust and refasten his jeans. Then he bent and scooped up her discarded dress. She accepted it demurely, shaking it till the threads married up again.

  She said carefully, “I will take you there, but I believe slipping away is no longer an option.”

  He frowned, casting a glance over his shoulder, and saw at last what she had hidden until he’d revealed his wishes. The interested spectators among the tables, regarding them with amusement and curiosity. Among them, the king stood alone, and turned away.

  Danna wondered if she had unwittingly broken some unknown law in consorting with the stranger in public and instinctively looked for Aurel. He, his arm loosely around Beth, smiled lopsidedly and turned to Aaron, drawing him away.

  Aaron was not pleased.

  “Shit,” said Michael ruefully. “Well, damn them, we’ll worry about all of them tomorrow. Tonight is for us, remember?”

  * * *

  Aaron watched them go with something approaching bitterness in his heart.

  Beth, Michael, Eve and Aaron. Since early childhood, their “differentness” had drawn them together, and the friendship had held through all the stages of growing up and learning and disagreeing. Between Aaron and Michael there had always been a special bond, that even their rivalry for Eve’s love could not shake.

  Aaron hadn’t been surprised when Eve chose Michael. Though well aware of his own worth and intelligence, there was something about Michael that shone brightly, that inevitably captivated the girl they both loved. Aaron had given in gracefully, working through his heartache for the sake of the friendships he valued even more.