Chapter Fourteen

Cassandra

“I propose a challenge.” His gruff voice in the dead silence made Cassandra jump. He didn’t look up from his task. “We each start at opposite ends and work through them. Whoever finds the potion first, wins.”

“Dude. You’re so on.”

For the first time all day, he met her gaze. The ornery grin that shone there sent those damn moths in her belly into a frenzy.

With the temperature between them now lukewarm, she catapulted into her work groove. Time flew by and soon she was yawning, her fingers sore from dropping, squeezing, tightening, and other abuse her hands were used to.

“Tired, human? Do you forfeit?”

“Never!”

But after a few more strenuous squeezes of the dropper, she gently placed it down and walked away, wiping her brow with her wrist. She pulled off her gloves and dropped them in the waste bucket. Qadaire did the same, a tight smile on his lovely face.

“A break is needed.”

“Yes.” She held out a hand. “Truce?”

“For now.” He accepted her hand in his bottom right, his top right rising to run through his head feathers. She watched the movement, barely keeping her mouth closed at the flex of the bicep that connected to his upper pec. Running through the woods and handling huge bucks must be a decent workout, and it wasn’t like he ate a bunch of greasy hamburgers.

“I’m gonna take Zero out.”

“I’ll accompany you. I must go out as well.”

Qadaire spoke so softly, his words were swallowed by the ballroom. Cass realized what he meant belatedly and tried not to stumble.

Once outside, Qadaire sped off—literally, he was nothing but a blur—but didn’t go very far into the woods. By the light of the moon in the violet-blue sky, he was bent over a large wild turkey. She quickly turned away.

He was beside her a few moments later, just as she was about to take Zero back inside. She glanced at the spot he’d come from, where the turkey’s carcass was a mound between the trees.

“Care to join me for a visit to the greenhouse?”

“Sure.” She glanced around the grounds, trying to gauge how long of a walk it would be for Zero. Before she voiced her concern, Qadaire scooped Zero into his bottom arms. Behind him, Cass spotted a troupe of gray wolves stalking toward the fallen turkey.

“About earlier.” He projected clearly, like he’d spent all day mustering the courage to say these very words. “I must apologize for overstepping. I was worried, but most of all, I was impatient. As I said, it will not happen again.”

“Thank you, Q. That means a lot.”

She reached from her shawl to gently touch his bicep. He tensed. Cass pretended not to notice when he stumbled but recovered with an extra half-step.

She was grateful she’d snagged her shawl on the way out and marveled at how unaffected he seemed by the cold. They walked in silence until they reached a huge greenhouse, approximately the size of a neighborhood park. All the windows were full of life, with every shade of green and a spattering of yellows, purples, pinks. The smell of abundant life and tea tree oil swept her away.

“Holy damn, dude. What all do you grow in here?”

“Everything.” Q opened the door and set Zero down, who curled up in the corner of the building. “Dude.”

She cast him a shocked look, and he grinned. How did he make slang sound so good? It was weird coming from his mouth. Like it ought to be kissed from his lips—oh, crap. Damn intrusive thoughts.

“Do you know plants?” asked Qadaire as he deftly filled a watering can with his lower arms, using his uppers to fiddle with some type of watering system, it seemed.

“I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life.”

“They can be fickle.” He switched the cans in his bottom arms and flicked a switch with his upper left, his upper right reaching for a long silver apparatus.

“How do you do that?” Cass blanched, in awe.

“Do what?”

“You’re so ambidextrous. You have four arms, but you’re handling, like, six tasks at once!”

All of those arms stilled, contemplation etched in his stoic mask. After a few tense moments, his features softened and he shrugged. He actually shrugged. That innocuous motion commanded her attention. By the time his double-deckered shoulder fell back into place, Cass knew she wouldn’t hesitate to ride his hand again.

“If you were versed in plants, you would know that this”—he gestured to the bountiful life around them—“is impossible.”

Cass considered their surroundings more intently. There wasn’t a single dying plant in sight. Outside, there were trees with brown leaves, some still hanging onto their red and yellow hues, and patches of frosted grass.

“Oh, duh. It’s too cold!”

“Good observation, Doctor.” Before she turned her rotten evil eye on him, a soft caress of fingertips brushed her lower back. She shivered at the unexpected touch and his hand retreated like she was a rabid animal. “Plenty of plants do live through winter in a greenhouse, given the right circumstances. I ensure they all thrive, including those with differing needs. The atmosphere is laced with controlled magic.”

“Wow. So it’s all rigged. This would be a game-changer for alternative medicine.”

“Some modern medicine still relies on herbs.” They reached a wider pathway. Qadaire stepped beside her and pointed as they walked. “Cinchona red, for instance, used in quinine for malaria. Papaver somniferum, the poppy, used in—”

“Morphine.”

“Quite.”

They paused at a bed of bright purple poppies with yellow centers. He reached between two of the plants and sifted through the stalks until two metal bars were revealed. Each had their own pressure gauge. He set the cans down and brought the sleek silver hose forward. As quick as she could blink, he unscrewed a notch and replaced it with the metal hose.

“What is that?”

He cast a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “Watch.”

The flowers grew brighter and brighter, their already vibrant colors becoming a luminescent neon. The violet veins on the plum petals pulsed, like a steady bloodstream. Qadaire gently took her wrist and raised her palm over them. She could feel it. An lightning thrum of energy that reminded her of those orbs found in the lava lamp section of every quirky gift shop.

When the effect waned, she turned her open-mouthed stare to Qadaire, who was watching her with smug satisfaction. His gaze flicked down to her mouth. Still cradling her wrist, he flipped her hand over and held it between them, the motion pulling her closer to his chest. Little star-like bursts of magic twinkled around and through her fingers, slowly extinguishing one by one.

Cassandra lifted her suddenly heavy lids to meet Qadaire’s gaze. All lingering thoughts of denying him fled out the windows. With her wrist still in his grasp, she pressed her hand onto his broad chest. His skin was cool to the touch, like a smooth pebble on the shore of a lake. His grip on her wrist tightened, then slackened, his thumb gently circling her tingling skin.

Oh, how she wanted to kiss him. She craved him so badly, it was like static in her blood. If she didn’t already know he couldn’t bewitch her, she would claim it was magic.

When his lower hands came to rest on her waist, she couldn’t help herself. She leaned in, pressed her navel flush against him, and rose onto her toes, never taking her eyes off his plump gray lips.

She placed the whisper of a kiss to the side of his mouth. She didn’t draw away, silently begging him. Take me. She swore she felt hesitation in the tightening of his muscles, his thumb stuttering in its lazy circles.

He dipped lower. She only had a moment to grieve as he claimed her neck, her jaw, her earlobe. Her breath shuddered to the rhythm of his frosty kisses. Then those adorable sounds mingled with the floral scents around them, his fangs nipping at her flesh, setting her senses aflame. Before she knew it, she was panting with need. She tilted her hips to relieve the ache with friction. The brush of his marble cock against her core made her wilt.

“Qadaire.”

She wanted to demand he kiss her, but before she could speak, he was all around her. He lifted her with absolute ease, as though she was light as a budding rose. He brought them to a cozy nook and laid her down on a long, velvety bench, with a built-in cylindrical armrest on one side, which he carefully draped her over.

His knee found its way between her thighs as his upper arms pulled at the hem of her shirt. She leaned forward to help him and instinctively tried to capture his lips, but they followed his course and landed on the taut bud of her nipple. She moaned, arching over the armrest. When one of his hands found her other bud and pinched, desire was no longer an ache in her stomach. It was a siren, a warning that raged in her veins, commanding attention.

“Cassandra,” he spoke with the desperation of a dying man, her name his final plea.

“Yes.”

His bottom hands eased her pants down, exposing her pussy to the humid air of the greenhouse. His fangs grazed the skin around her other breast, his head feathers tickling under her chin. With a touch so gentle, he caressed her sex, coaxing pleasure along the seam of her labia. A shudder sprouted in her core, the seed of an orgasm winding outward like the vines crawling up the windows over Qadaire’s shoulder. More, she needed more, more than that shadow of a touch.

His warbles vibrated against her lower abdomen. Again he tortured her, the tip of his finger skimming her closed entrance. She whimpered, twisting her hips, begging him with her body.

“I need to taste you, Cassandra.”

She nodded emphatically. His upper hands continued to play with her nipples, pinching and tugging until they were extended between his fingers. He trailed reverent kisses down her stomach, not leaving a single patch of skin untouched, including spots she was once self-conscious about. Under his touch, she forgot she’d ever cared. She was a goddess, one he worshiped like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Except, why wouldn’t he kiss her?

The question niggled in the back of her brain, but was forgotten again as he pressed his wide tongue into her folds, splitting her wide open. He pushed his way through until his tongue slipped shallowly inside, then dragged it all the way up to her clit, where he closed his lips around her and sucked once before starting over. His slightly coarse tongue was a new, foreign feeling that made her tingle. He repeated in slow, grueling licks, ending each with a satisfying slurp of her swollen clit.

“Qadaire. Please.”

“I’m here, dewdrop.” His voice was muffled against her cunt. “Let me unburden you.”

His bottom arms circled her around her thighs, forcing her legs apart, her pussy damp and open to the dewy air. When he rubbed his whole face through her slick folds, the primal groan that mingled with his warbles sent vibrations bouncing through her every synapse. She fisted a patch of hair and feathers on his head and drove herself over him, not caring which part of his face she coated with her slickness. He didn’t seem to care either, sharp fingernails piercing her thighs as she rode his face with wild abandon.

She couldn’t get what she needed. She whined and slowed, which urged him to finally slide a thick digit inside her aching pussy. She groaned low, not a pretty sound. He suctioned her clit with his mouth and sucked, hard, over and over, swiping her bud with his textured tongue.

A charge burst through her that made her legs squeeze around his head. She was getting close, so close. He added another finger and worked them in and out, moving along to the rhythm she set with her hips. Her hands gripped his feathers so tight she might rip them out.

She looked down. The mesmerizing sight between her thighs stole her breath. His wings, half-unfurled, whispered sweet hushing sounds. He had one knee on the ground, the other leg outstretched behind him for support as he vicously humped the velvet bench. With every pump of his fingers, he rutted the furniture harder.

“Give it to me, dewdrop.”

The words came out as though they pained him. Like he needed her release more than she did. He lifted his head enough that she saw the wildness in his gaze, a vision of carnal desire. He grazed her thigh with his fangs and slid a third finger inside. He curled them, sending bursts of color to flood her vision. He massaged all her hidden places, his thumb on her clit moving more quickly than humanly possible.

“Let me shoulder your burden. There’s nothing but you and me right now.”

He returned his mouth to her clit with a new fervor. The quiet strength in his tone made her toes curl. She closed her eyes and obeyed. She let go. She released any expectations of how she should feel. Released the tension in her muscles. Released her need for control. She gave it all up.

Her whimpers became cries as she surrendered. Her body turned to putty in his many hands as a million crackles of electric currents wracked through her. Her orgasm was enhanced by the resonating warbles he poured into her cunt, followed by a deep groan of his own.

She settled back into her body like a golden leaf drifting to the ground. She lay there, panting and smoothing the feathers on his upper forearms, until her breath was almost back to normal. She started to giggle, but Qadaire remained stiff between her legs, lapping at whatever liquid was still flowing from her. He glanced up, his face glistening with her come. His mouth ticked upward, which reminded her of how badly she wanted to kiss him. Her giggles died in her throat.

They remained that way, the air between them as brittle as the brown leaves coating the forest floor until he broke it with a look of sheer panic.

“I-I must go. I must feed, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you inside.”

A blink, and he was gone.

“Okay, then.” She fixed her clothes and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Cass knew nothing of vampires other than what she’d learned from Qadaire. If he said he needed to feed again already, she wouldn’t know otherwise. Maybe he’d been feeding more often than she’d realized.

Whatever was happening, it was like neither of them could resist. She’d meant to. Now here she was, naked and alone. She had no clue what to think about his sudden departure.

Or all of those unfinished kisses.