“Then make it happen,” she said, hand sliding for his balls. His fingers caressed her clit. Began stroking.
Bryce kneaded his balls, and a shudder went through him. Another. On the third stroke, she squeezed hard, right as lightning streamed from his fingers and—
She was falling. Had the distant sense of screaming her pleasure to the surface miles above, of an orgasm rocking through her, reducing her mind to rubble. She was vaguely conscious of Hunt pumping into her, spilling into her, over and over—
Falling through time and space and light and shadow—
Up was down and down was up, and they were the only beings in existence, here in this garden, locked away from time—
Something cold and hard pushed into her back, but she didn’t care, not as she clenched Hunt to her, gasping down air, sanity. He was shaking, wings twitching, whispering, “Bryce, Bryce, Bryce,” in her ear.
Sweat coated their bodies, and she dragged her fingers down his spine. He was hers, and she was his, and—
“Bryce,” Hunt said, and Bryce opened her eyes.
Harsh, blinding light greeted them. White walls, diving equipment, and—a ladder. No hint of a garden.
Hunt was instantly up, whirling to assess their surroundings, cock still jutting out and gleaming. Bryce needed a moment to get her knees operational, bracing against the cold floor.
She knew this room.
Hunt’s eyes remained wild, but—no lightning danced around them. No trace of that primal fury. Just a glowing, iridescent handprint on his chest, a remnant of starlight. It faded with each breath.
He asked between pants, “How the fuck did we wind up in the air lock?”
“Okay,” Flynn said, clapping his hands together. “So to make sure I have this right …” He pointed to the slender fire sprite floating in the air to his left. “You’re Ridi.”
“Rithi!” she squeaked.
“Rithi,” Flynn amended with a smile. He pointed to the full-bodied sprite before him. “You’re Malana.” She beamed. He pointed to the sprite to the right of her. “And you’re Sasa. And you’re triplets.”
“Yes,” Malana said, long hair floating in the air around her. “Descendants of Persina Falath, Lady of Cinders.”
“Right,” Ithan said, as if that meant anything to him. He knew nothing about sprites and their hierarchies. Only that they’d been banished from Sky and Breath ages ago for a failed rebellion. They’d been deemed Lowers ever since.
“And you,” Flynn drawled, pivoting to the naked female on the other end of the sectional, a blanket draped around her shoulders, “are …”
“I haven’t given you my name,” came the answer, her red eyes now faded to a charred black. She’d stopped burning—at least enough to avoid singeing the couch.
“Exactly,” Flynn said, as if the Fae lord weren’t taunting a dragon. A fucking dragon. A Lower, yes, but … fuck. They weren’t true shifters, switching between humanoid and animal bodies at will. They were more like the mer, if anything. There was a biological or magical difference to explain it—Ithan vaguely remembered learning about it in school, though he’d promptly forgotten the details.
It didn’t matter now, he supposed. The dragon could navigate two forms. He’d be a fool to underestimate her in this one.
The dragon stared Flynn down. He gave her a charming smile back. Her chin lifted. “Ariadne.”
Flynn arched a brow. “A dragon named Ariadne?”
“I suppose you have a better name for me?” she shot back.
“Skull-Crusher, Winged Doom, Light-Eater.” Flynn ticked them off on his fingers.
She snorted, and the hint of amusement had Ithan realizing that the dragon was … beautiful. Utterly lethal and defiant, but—well, damn. From the gleam in Flynn’s eyes, Ithan could tell the Fae lord was thinking the same.
Ariadne said, “Such names are for the old ones who dwell in their mountain caves and sleep the long slumber of true immortals.”
“But you’re not one of them?” Ithan asked.
“My kin are more … modern.” Her gaze sharpened on Flynn. “Hence Ariadne.”
Flynn winked. She scowled.
“How did all of you”—Declan cut in, motioning to Ariadne, her body similar to that of a Fae female’s—“fit into that tiny ring?”
“We were bespelled by the Astronomer,” Sasa whispered. “He’s an ancient sorcerer—don’t let him deceive you with that feeble act. He bought us all, and shoved us into those rings to light the way when he descends into Hel. Though Ariadne got put into the ring by …” She trailed off when the dragon cut her a scathing, warning look.
A chill went down Ithan’s spine. He asked them, “Is there anything to be done to free the others he still controls? The mystics?”
“No,” Ariadne answered. She peered down at her tan wrist. The brand there. SPQM. A slave’s mark. The sprites also bore it. “He owns them, as he owns us. The mystic you spoke to, the wolf …” Her black eyes shifted toward red again. “He favors her. He will never let her go. Not until she grows old in that tank and dies.”
Centuries from now, possibly. Ithan’s gut twisted.
“Please don’t make us go back,” Rithi whispered, clinging to Malana.
“Hush,” Malana warned.
Marc studied them. “Look, ladies. You’re in a tough spot. You’re not only slaves, but stolen slaves.” A warning look at Ithan, who shrugged. He had no regrets. “Yet there are laws about your treatment. It’s archaic and nonsensical that anyone can be owned, but if you can prove severe maltreatment, it might allow for you to be … purchased by someone else.”
“Not freed?” Sasa whispered.
“Only your new owner could do that,” Marc said sadly.
“So buy them and be done with it.” Ariadne crossed her arms.
“What about you, sweetheart?” Flynn purred at the dragon, like the Fae male literally couldn’t help himself.
Her eyes burned crimson. “I’m beyond your pay grade, lordling.”
“Try me.”
But the dragon turned back to staring at the TV, still paused on the video game. Ithan swallowed and asked her, “It’s bad, then—what he does to the mystics?”
“He tortures them,” Ariadne said flatly, and Rithi whimpered her agreement. “The wolf female is … defiant. She did not lie about his punishments. I’ve sat on his hand for years and witnessed him send her into the darkest corners of Hel. He lets the demons and their princes taunt her. Terrify her. He thinks he’ll break her one day. I’m not so sure.”
Ithan’s stomach turned.
Ariadne went on, “She spoke true today about the necromancer, too.” Flynn, Marc, and Declan turned toward Ithan, brows high. “You want answers about your dead brother, then you should find one.”
Ithan nodded. The dragon belonged to the House of Flame and Shadow, even if the slave tattoo removed her from its protections. She’d have knowledge of a necromancer’s ability.
Declan announced, “Well, since we’re now harboring stolen slaves, we might as well make you ladies comfortable. Feel free to claim Ruhn’s room—second bedroom at the top of the stairs.”