Chapter Thirty-Three

ERIN

Two weeks later…

“Mmm.” I stirred, half asleep, trying to find a comfortable new position on the mattress.

Nash nuzzled my shoulder and tightened his arms around me.

I smiled. Some people talked in their sleep. Some walked in their sleep. My man cuddled.

A wonderful, wonderful complement to his more, um… active bedroom talents. The latter left me blissfully tired and oh-so satisfied, while the former proved how deep his love went.

Not that I needed the reassurance. Not after what we’d gotten up to a week earlier, when a few innocent kisses led to a raging inferno in which we’d gone at it on all fours, followed by—

I blushed just thinking about it.

We’d both sworn to take our time settling into a new normal after the whirlwind of the past weeks. Nash had been especially sensitive about not pressuring me into taking the next logical step — a mating bite. Which was a relief, or so I’d thought, because I hadn’t been all that excited about the biting part, what with a nasty she-vampire all too fresh in my memory.

But that night, in the throes of passion, something deep inside me fought its way to the surface, igniting a craving like nothing I’d ever experienced. I’d ended up begging — full-on, teary-eyed, scratchy-voice, shameless begging — for a bite. And, holy smokes. I’d never experienced a more explosive, dizzying high than in those next, unforgettable moments.

Except, ha. I’d gotten to experience it all over again the next night, and a few hours ago, because mating bites weren’t a one-time deal. You got to repeat them as often as you wanted.

And boy, did Nash and I want. We wanted and wanted and wanted.

But I digress.

The glow must have shown the next day, because Pippa hustled me a safe distance from Claire and demanded to hear all the sizzling details. But I honestly didn’t have the words.

“Try,” Pippa growled.

That Pippa. Bossy as hell sometimes.

So I tried, but even the best, most explosive sex of my life coinciding with a tiny flash of pain that sent fire searing through my veins and plunged me into ecstasy didn’t do it justice.

I doubted that would satisfy Pippa, who’d never shied away from smutty girl talk. But my expression must have conveyed the rest, rendering even her — mostly — speechless.

“Wow,” she said, stunned.

Yes, that summed it up nicely.

And yes, I knew I was one lucky woman. I had a good job, a great man, and a wonderful life in a beautiful, peaceful place.

And yet, that night in my loft, I stared up into the roof beams, inexplicably restless.

Nash was sleeping as soundly as ever, his steady breaths conveying calm and satisfaction. Outside, not a dog barked, not a horse whinnied. The world was at peace.

Everything and everyone but me.

I checked the clock. Nearly midnight. Then I stared into the darkness, trying not to think. An eternity later, I glanced at the clock. Why was time moving so slowly?

Maybe it was me.

Ever since tapping into the power of the vortex — something I vowed to never, ever do again (unless another warlock or vampire came along to threaten us. But damn, I sure hoped not) — things were different. Before, I could track the wind if I made a conscious, concentrated effort — a little like using my limited high school Spanish. Now, I was suddenly fluent, comprehending as effortlessly as in my native language.

Yeah, comprehension. Fluency — those fit my new relationship to the wind perfectly.

But the wind was slumbering at that moment, as I ought to be.

I lay there, listening to my heart thump. Not a quiet nighttime thump either. More like an anticipatory, the race is about to start kind of thumping.

I frowned into the darkness. There was no race, only a four a.m. alarm looming. It was time to rest, not to lie around fretting.

I rolled and cuddled closer to Nash, trying to absorb his peaceful vibes. But when I closed my eyes, my mind filled with apocalyptic images of rushing landscapes and bursts of fire.

I snapped my eyes open and rolled to my back. Maybe if I counted sheep…

Okay, counting sheep never worked. But I had to try something.

And damn, was it hot. Even naked and with sheets long since lost over the side of the mattress, I broke into a sweat. I could see it glisten on my chest in the moonlight. Which would be normal for summer — or menopause, I supposed — but we were still in the dead of a high-altitude Arizona winter. And as for menopause, I shouldn’t have to deal with that for another twenty years. Or so I hoped.

Twisting, I dug my shoulders into the mattress against a sudden itch. And, ow. Not just an itch, but sharp, stabbing pinches. I frowned. Abby had once suffered a severe case of shingles — the virus, not the roofing — and it had been utter misery. Was I coming down with it?

I lay there a while longer, wondering what was wrong with me. Then I took a deep breath and forced myself to push it all out of my mind.

Inhale. Exhale. Everything was okay.

There. Mind over matter, like my dad liked to say.

Or maybe not, because a moment later—

An intense, urgent something hit me. I threw my pillow aside, jumped out of bed, and hurried downstairs.

“Erin?” Nash called sleepily.

Bang! I pushed the front door open so hard, it slammed against the wall.

“Erin!” Nash called in alarm.

I wanted to stop and tell him everything was okay. But it wasn’t, and I couldn’t.

I raced out into the desert, barefoot, naked, and panting. I didn’t feel the cold or the gravel underfoot, just the urge to get out under open skies and into a fresh breeze.

Open skies… Fresh breeze… Going faster and faster, something in me cheered.

I sprinted, following sheer instinct. But weird instinct, because if you wanted to run fast, you kept your arms pumping, not out at your sides like an albatross.

Not an albatross, a deep, throaty voice scoffed in my mind. It reminded me of my mother.

I cringed. She wasn’t back already, was she?

“Erin!” Nash yelled from the doorway.

I wanted to run back into his arms, but something steered me onward. Faster and faster, with cold night air whooshing over my skin.

Yes, that deep voice murmured. Faster…

I was nearly at Picnic Rock, as my sisters and I had dubbed it — a big, flat slab of rock that slanted gradually to about four feet above ground. We really did picnic out there sometimes, and as kids, we’d held jumping contests that started with a run-up along the rock and ended with a leap off the high end. Pippa usually won.

My lips curled into a deranged smile. Something told me I was about to break her record.

“Erin!” I heard Nash’s footsteps behind me. But they were interrupted by curses and hops, whereas my feet didn’t register rocks, roots, or thorns.

I did register the wind, though. The moment I’d burst outside, it had perked up the way the horses did when we opened the barn door. Within seconds, it whipped into excited little gusts. Now, it settled in behind me and pushed, practically cheering, You can do it!

Do what? the last working section of my mind wondered.

The rest of me was on autopilot. I ran so fast, tears blurred my vision. I leaped so far, my breath caught. So high, the stars sparkled.

And I never landed.

The ground rushed by five feet beneath me. Ten feet…twenty…

“Woo-hoo!” Somewhere in the distance, Nash cheered. “You’re flying!”

I blinked, catching sight of a wingtip to my left. And, wow. A matching one on my right.

I stared. Not a good idea. Just like staring to one side while riding a bike — your body tended to follow the shift in balance.

Right on cue, I tipped into a tight turn, bellowing in panic.

Really bellowing, as loud as an irritated heifer. Maybe even louder.

“Your tail!” Nash shouted. “Use your tail!”

Now, that’s not very polite, a ladylike corner of my soul grumbled.

But, oh. Something whipped behind me, and I steadied out.

Whew. Or, crap. I had a tail now?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

The sentiment came out with a little yelp and, whoosh! A thin line of fire illuminated the space in front of my nostrils.

Nash ducked out of the way. “Careful!”

I sealed my hot, ashy lips, terrified but also recklessly thrilled.

Because, wow. Those weren’t apocalyptic visions I’d had. They were glimpses from a dragon’s point of view.

My point of view now.

I rose to fifty feet, then a hundred, then higher still. Cool air whisked over my cheeks and followed the lines of my body to stream smoothly over my chest and wings. I leaned this way and that, testing out the controls, so to speak.

Feeling bold, I sucked in a lungful of air, let it heat in my throat for a split second, then blew it out.

Whoosh! Flames burst out of my mouth. It was exhilarating, like pulling the burner cord in a balloon, but fifty times better.

When the airflow to my right changed, I glanced over to find a huge bronze dragon zooming up beside me.

That was amazing! Nash’s deep dragon voice boomed in my mind. It took me ages to learn to take off, and even then, I didn’t fly much farther than the Wright Brothers . You’re already soaring!

I was, without even thinking.

The wind tickled my belly, demanding its share of the credit.

I hastily amended the thought to Thank goodness for this amazing wind, without which this wouldn’t be possible .

Still, I had to quietly marvel. I really was flying, and not too shabbily.

It was all so new, yet strangely familiar.

The more I flew, the more I suspected that my dragon side had been with me all along — that gritty voice in the back of my mind that had always doled out advice, encouragement, and warnings.

This way, Nash called, turning toward Bear Mountain. Just watch the eddies… He glanced back to check on me, then went wide-eyed.

Wow. You’re a natural. And it doesn’t hurt to be a wind whisperer, does it?

I pursed my lips — big, hard dragon lips, as I discovered; maybe not so good for kissing — and replayed that last section of flight time. I’d felt the eddy, but I’d adjusted in time to avoid bobbling. So, yay me. Points for technical merit.

I flew on, thinking that over. But instead of clear thoughts, all I got were emotions — a whole tempest of them, all sweeping at me from out of nowhere.

As urgently as I’d taken to the sky, I dove toward the cliff tops to land.

Watch the— And the— Nash bit off his own instructions as I aced the landing. Really aced it, like an old pro, which was why my mind was spinning.

I slumped and bent my frighteningly long neck until my head touched my chest. I nestled my nose there and closed my eyes, panting. Sniffling. Wait… Crying?

Well, a dragon version of crying, though I didn’t actually shed tears. My breath heaved, and I made pathetic little wheezing noises.

What’s wrong? Nash landed and looped a huge wing over my shoulders — a move with serious potential to terrify, though I found it strangely comforting.

So why was I crying?

I blubbered incoherently. Because of everything, I supposed. Everything I was, and everything I’d spent years believing I would never be.

Why are you crying? Nash asked, sounding genuinely torn.

Well, lots of reasons, though they were hard to pin down.

One was joy — the sheer joy of flying. Something I’d grasped at my whole life, only to achieve now. Because, wow. I could transform into a dragon!

Another part was sorrow. All those years I’d wished for a tiny crumb of my father’s magic or my mother’s abilities…only to realize they had been there all along, deep inside me. I just hadn’t been connecting the puzzle pieces properly. Now, they all clicked into place, and I felt whole — really whole, and really me — for the first time ever. Not the me I wished I could be. The me I was destined to be.

Which brought me back to joy again. The bittersweet kind you only tasted after a long period of struggling.

So, I supposed that was why I was crying. For all that, and for Nash, who’d made it possible.

For so long, I’d harbored a lot of dreams, but finding a man like Nash was a little like dreaming about world peace. A nice idea, but unlikely ever to be achieved.

And yet, here we were. Amazing.

So, hey. Next stop, world peace?

One thing at a time, I reminded myself. One thing at a time.

I pulled myself together and whispered into his mind. You know how you said you only came alive once you were free of Angelina?

He nodded tersely.

I feel like that now, I explained. Alive. Free.

Nash nuzzled my head with his chin. A huge, chunky, battering ram of a chin, but it felt like heaven to me.

I sniffled a little longer, leaning into him. When my breaths steadied out again, I looked up.

Sorry.

Nothing to be sorry about, he assured me.

I nuzzled him. And oh, was that good, especially when I rubbed my thick brow against his chin. I made a mental note.

Maybe not sorry, I agreed. Just grateful for so much. Grateful for you.

His smile came with a puff of warm air. I’m grateful for you.

We stayed there, enjoying a dragon cuddle — not at all as counterintuitive as it sounds — for a few minutes. Then I took a deep breath and straightened.

I’m ready now.

Nash cocked his head. Ready for…?

Flying, silly, I said, as unabashed as I could manage, seeing as I was the one who’d rushed into an emergency landing to bawl my heart out for a while.

Nash’s eyes sparkled, and he stuck out a wing, indicating the miles of wild, open landscape we could fly over. Heck, we could do better than just fly. We could soar. Glide. Spiral upward and swoop downward… All over a stunning landscape bathed in moonlight and blessed by a friendly breeze.

After you, my mate, Nash rumbled happily. After you.