CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 25

The second banquet Gayriel attended at the Amber Aerie began very different from the first, at least in regards to her anticipation. Actually, when she looked back at the event, she found a fair amount of amusement at her ignorance. This night, she was dressed to garner attention. Specifically, Dynarys's attention.

He was ridiculously jealous of Scet's contact, as she knew he would be. But when they returned to his rooms and she explained all, he struggled to be just and fair, as she knew he would be. However, he had yet to touch her seriously since the clearing, always insisting she needed rest, or healing.

Oh, he held her and stroked her, even kissed her passionately. And at night, when he gathered her in his arms, his desire was more than evident, but he had become a paragon of gentle caresses and caring devotion.

She didn't want such things. She had chosen her mate and, damn the Six, she wanted consummation. And tonight she was going to get it.

She studied her appearance in the mirror she had insisted upon and frowned at her reflection. Everything had to be perfect. She had left her hair down, to cascade over her naked shoulders. It hung down, brushing against the torc, highlighted with the Firestriker family crest, which sat in the hollow of her throat. She fingered it lovingly. A sign of her attachment to Dynarys.

The rest of her torso was nearly bare. A belt-like strap of deep blue fabric crossed the top of her breasts. Attached to it, two folds of lighter blue gauze, just opaque enough to hide her nipples, draped down, one over the front of each breast, leaving the sides of her round globes visible. It gave the illusion that the fabric might shift at any moment, baring her chest for all to see. Just an illusion, the dressmaker had assured her. The gauze could be secured with a special glue. The folds wouldn't move all night and only a slight degree of heat, a little higher than her body's temperature, would release it.

The remains of the dress was a simple skirt of the darker material, with a long slit up her right thigh. Paired with silver sandals that laced up her calves, it was an image Fothmar would have been proud of. She hoped.

The tap at the door had her heart skipping. Dynarys had disappeared earlier, off to the bath house, and she had rushed to dress before he returned. Maybe they wouldn't even make it to the banquet.

She moved to a table set against the wall and poured a dram of syrup that sat there. Ephac syrup. Apparently the tree produced hallucinogenic effects, if you drank enough, but at a low dose it dulled pain.

And did she need it. She hadn't counted on full body muscle spasms and piercing headaches. Somehow, she had imagined breaking the link would produce more of an emotional pain, like the loss of someone close.

The medic likened it to withdrawal from a drug such as Ephac itself, and she had discovered quickly that it was not a pleasant experience. Keeping that in mind, she only ever took the syrup when the pain was unbearable, but tonight she made an exception. She wanted nothing interfering with her plans, and the sudden waves of cramping and shaking, should one come along, would definitely interfere.

She swallowed the bitter liquid and sashayed toward the door. Turning her hips slightly, to present the best silhouette, she opened it.

“Gayriel,” Tharissa beamed, snatching Gayriel from her pose in her eagerness to give her a hug. Gayriel hesitated, still a little shocked at the woman's easy forgiveness of her charade and acceptance of her once shameful position.

“Hi, Tharissa,” she giggled. The woman was exuberant. Gayriel peered down the hall behind her, but was disappointed to find only the regular Shifter guards and Morkuth.

“Dynarys had business with the Archon before the banquet. He asked if we would escort you to the hall, should he be delayed.” Morkuth gave her a knowing grin; one that said her efforts as she opened the door had not gone unnoticed.

Gayriel tried to control her blush. There was nothing to be ashamed of, after all, but if Dynarys had business with the Archon, why hadn't he simply told her?

“He will be devastated to know what he missed,” Morkuth teased, offering an arm to Gayriel and an arm to Tharissa.

The hall was crowded when they arrived, but this time she was in far less awe. The fountains still made her uncomfortable, but she could ignore them. Eyes, amber and otherwise, turned their direction as they stepped into the domed room.

She held her back straight and tried not to feel like the slave imposter once again.

Instead, she searched for Dynarys.

“Lady Gayriel?”

Gayriel turned, a little surprised to hear the voice at her side.

“Beska?”

The woman stood before her, dressed in a simple and modest silver piece that made Gayriel feel slightly foolish for her outfit of choice. Her skin was clear now, and unmarked by the tragedy of that night, thanks, no doubt to the salves of the aerie's medic. She had somehow piled her hair on top of her head so that it reminded Gayriel of a cascade from one of the fountains. Her blue eyes regarded the world sadly, and her posture spoke to her discomfort.

“I just wanted...I needed to thank you. That night,” she paused, gathering herself. “I was ready to give up that night. When you found me on the staircase, I was waiting for death to come. But you came instead, and gave me strength to go on one more day.”

“But I lied to you,” Gayriel reminded her, not that she particularly enjoyed bringing it up.

She nodded. “I know. And then you saved me. I think the latter is more important.”

Gayriel gave a small smile.

“Lady Gayriel,” Strale sidled into the conversation. Gayriel looked around. Where had Tharissa and Morkuth gone? “Beska,” he greeted the other woman. There was a distinct lack of touching in his greeting and Gayriel eyed him suspiciously. What game did he play? But he wasn't looking at her at all.

“Thank you, once more, Lady,” Beska said softly, a deep red rising to her cheeks. “Please, excuse me.”

Before she could reply, Beska had slipped between a passing Lord and a servant bearing a tray of sparkling drinks. The woman was quick, she'd give her that. Gayriel looked up at Strale, who stared after her with a look of frustration.

“I am the one who carried her through the forest and brought her to the aerie, and yet she avoids me,” he confessed, when he caught her looking.

“Maybe it has something to do with that,” she gestured downward. Like the first banquet, Strale wore the very minimal of what might be considered clothing. Only this time, if possible, it was even more ridiculous. The black fabric wrapped in strips around his hips and again in strips around his...erection. A sprinkling of silver jewels attached to a delicate chain highlighted his member.

“If it had something to do with that, shouldn't she be running toward me instead of away from me?”

Gayriel opened her mouth and then closed it, unsure whether an explanation would do any good.

“Have you seen Dynarys?” she asked, instead.

“The very reason I sought you out. Come, Lady, I will escort you to your mate.”

He pulled her through the crowd of bodies until they reached a small alcove, where Dynarys stood with the Archon and another Lord she recognized from the delegation.

Dynarys's eyes rose automatically, before the others even sensed she was there. His face stiffened with passion and his eyes flared.

Gayriel relished the sense of pleasure that rose within her, knowing her preparation had the desired effect.

“Gayriel,” he breathed and she flowed to his arms.

The Archon nodded sagely. “Any sign of them?” he asked Strale.

“They aren't here.”

Gayriel looked up at Dynarys, raising a brow in question.

“Jaithuk and Amtine. Pourtus's Father and Mother. Before the trial, they lobbied incessantly for your banishment, as well as my own, but it seems no one has seen them since.”

Gayriel frowned.

“I am certain they are in mourning,” the Lord from the delegation consoled. “It is a hard thing to lose their only child and bear the name of a traitor in the same week.”

They stood, silent for a moment, a recognition of all that had happened.

“Well, we will have to keep an eye on them. Amtine has been distraught and I would hate for her to make poor decisions in her state. But, for tonight, I leave you to enjoy the banquet. I am sure Dynarys would like to share the evening with his new mate.”

The Archon departed without another word, nodding to a Lord and Lady as he passed out of the alcove. Gayriel looked up to find Dynarys staring at her, eyes glowing.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered, drawing her close. He cleared his throat. “I intended to ensure you enjoyed the banquet, since the last one was ruined by circumstance. But I find myself wanting to get you out of here...desperately.”

Gayriel grinned. Just as she had hoped. “Lead away,” she encouraged.

A corner of his lip quirked upward. “It is no wonder Morkuth never lasts more than an hour at these.”

He grabbed her fingers, caressing them with his thumb. “How is the pain?” he asked, as they moved through the crowd.

She looked at her mate. He stared ahead, a frown on his face. The situation was one that caused him so much discomfort and jealousy, yet his concern was for her. If it were possible, she loved him even more at that moment.

“I took some syrup before coming. I wanted to have this night with you,” she squeezed his fingers. His features softened slightly.

Escaping from the hall brought a refreshing blast of cool air. The wind had picked up and it held the first hints of a storm to come. But for now, it was cool against her bare skin.

“You look...you are driving the beast insane,” Dynarys ventured.

“And the man?”

“Yes, him, as well.”

They didn't turn where Gayriel expected, the route back to his room. Instead, he pulled her the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought I'd show you my surprise,” an impish smile crossed his lips.

“Oh? What kind of surprise is it?”

“Come on, I'll show you.”

He pulled her down along the street and then up an alley and into a familiar building. The building where Tharissa lived. They worked their way up two flights of stairs and down a hallway identical to the one on Tharissa's floor.

Dynarys paused at the doorway. He looked at her, took a deep breath and then swung the door wide.

“Surprise,” he whispered. “Our new home, I hope you like it.”

Gayriel stared. The space was bright with lantern light and open. She stepped inside, the first room beautiful enough in itself. It might be empty, but it filled suddenly with something of Gayriel's dreams. A small kitchen sat directly off of it and doors and arches led farther in. At the end of one long hallway sat the only piece of furniture. The bed from her first room at the aerie, dark wooden posts carved with dragons.

A home.

She had never had a home before, never knew how she longed for one. And now, this unknown dream was complete. She dropped her barrier, wanting Dynarys to know exactly what she was feeling.

He inhaled a sharp breath.

“I love you, Dynarys.”

“I love you, too, my mate,” Dynarys growled, scooping her up as he slammed the entrance door with his foot.

In a few short steps, they were at the bed and he flung her down upon it, quickly removing his shirt before his emerging wings could destroy it. His muscles rippled with the movement, the scales of his dragon appearing along his neck. He stood there for a long moment, looking down on her, eyes roving her body and the dress that barely covered it. The desire in his eyes had her squirming with need. She shifted, but there was nothing to relieve her discomfort. Only he could do that.

With deliberate slowness, he reached down, untying the laces that held up his pants. Her gaze fastened there, breath hitching with anticipation. One tie, and then two. Before he reached the third, his heavy cock was visible, pushing upward eagerly against his stomach. He wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking it a few times, watching her with hungry eyes. Still he stood before her, tempting, teasing, but not touching.

Well, two could play that game. She drew up a knee, the silk of her skirts tumbling down her thigh to pool on her stomach and the bed beside her hips. His gaze followed her movements hungrily, as he continued stroking himself slowly. Having him watch her like that, stimulating himself, might have been the most erotic thing she had ever experienced. During her training, she had learned many ways to stimulate arousal, she knew that men liked to watch women pleasure themselves, though during lessons it never made sense to her why. It had never occurred to her that the reverse would be so...tempting.

Smiling slyly, she trailed fingers along her knee and up her thigh, slowly working her way toward her core. When she reached the v between her thighs, she flipped the remaining fabric away, revealing herself to him.

He stared, swallowing hard. Even his own hand paused for a moment against his member.

Certain she had his full attention, she ran her middle finger between her folds. She was slick already, but she knew she would be. Her longing had been driving her crazy.

He let out a strangled noise, as she rose the finger to her lips and popped it into her mouth. Some of her lessons were perplexing, but the intensity with which he reacted made her rethink their usefulness. His cock twitched visibly in his hand.

She smiled and watched him through her lashes. How far could a man be aroused? Would he eventually snap and lose control? Could she make him snap? Watching his reactions was certainly affecting her. She lowered her fingers once more, noting the flaring of his nostrils.

This time when she reached her center, she slipped a finger inside, and then two, pumping lazily.

He snarled, releasing his cock and snatching her legs, pulling her suddenly until her hips, balanced on the edge of the bed.

“I have something better for that,” he told her, pressing his swollen head against her and rubbing vigorously. Not in, he did not enter, but ran his member up along her damp slickness so that, with each stroke, he brushed the tight nub where the core of her pleasure lay.

She whimpered, struggling a little against him, longing to be filled, to give her body something to bear down upon. How quickly he had turned the tables on her, made her desperate with need to the point of breaking.

He leaned forward, trapping his erection into her folds, rocking, providing waves of yearning, but never fulfillment. Needing to do something with her legs besides letting them dangle uselessly, she wrapped them around his hips, using her heels to encourage his movement, not that he paid attention to it.

His hands found her breasts, kneading the soft globes through the material of her dress. Apparently, he had some experience with the dressmaker's glue, for after he warmed them sufficiently, he peeled the fabric away, leaving her bare to him.

His fingers ran delicately over the crests, and then again beneath, avoiding her nipples, teasing. He leaned down, lowering his head and she arched her back, certain he would take a bud into his mouth. She suddenly wanted very much for him to do so. But he paused, with his mouth next to her skin, the heat of his breath tingling against her, pulling her nipples into hard little nubs.

Her breath shuddered, her senses overloading. She raised her arms from the bed, where she had been clutching at the sheets and grasped his head, pulling him down to her.

He chuckled darkly. “Hungry for more, my mate?”

Before she could answer, he lapped at her. Heat seared through her chest, a tingling sensation that had her nearly coming off the bed. He lapped again and then drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently once.

She let out a roar of her own, her fingers curling into his hair. He released the breast and moved his head left and suckled the other. She pushed up against him, panting. Then he nipped.

A roar escaped her; pain, but also a deep wave of pleasure, shot straight through her.

“Are you ready for me yet, Gayriel?” he growled, his voice harsh and breaking. “This will not be a gentle mating, I have restrained the beast too long.”

As if the dragon was in agreement, his eyes flared and the scales along his neck seemed to shimmer and shift.

She moaned something, they might have been words, but they came out incoherent and slightly desperate. He leaned back, shifting his weight off of her, but he did not pull his hips away.

“The next time we fuck, I'm going to taste you here,” he flicked her clitoris.

“Yes,” she pushed up against his hips, wanting him to taste her now, or fuck her. Whatever he wanted, as long as he did something.

“Put your feet on my chest.”

She obeyed, curling her knees so they were bent above her. His hands trailed from her hips and along her thighs and then back again. He positioned himself at her entrance, thrusting just enough that the head of his shaft slid between the moist lips, pushing against the swollen flesh there.

She shifted her bottom, pushing against him, settling herself farther around his straining member. Then she pushed with her feet, drawing herself up once more.

Dynarys groaned, standing still and allowing her movements. She slid down and then up, taking more of him with each stroke, using her legs to pump her hips.

“Gayriel.”

There was a warning in Dynarys's voice and strain, as if he was on the edge of restraint.

Gayriel watched him, both with love and pride. Her Dragon Lord. Her mate. And he loved her.

She growled. “I want all of you, Dynarys...unrestrained.”

Dynarys looked at her, eyes glowing and nostrils flaring. He didn't wait for further instruction. Finally, he started moving, grunting as he rocked into her with wild abandon.

Her hips bucked automatically, meeting him as frantically as he plunged into her.

The first coil of pleasure unwound, a sudden, intense spike, and she cried out.

Dynarys pushed harder, spurred by her cries and his own intense need, until they were both grinding helplessly, lost in the pleasure of one another. Her eyes closed with the intensity.

He collapsed on top of her, rolling them both to the bed's center so they didn't tumble to the floor. When, at last, she could breathe again she cracked an eye open and studied the man she had chosen.

This, she decided, as he pulled her close, gathering her against his chest...this was freedom.

The End.