Treasure Lane Dragons: Complete Series (BBW Paranormal Dragon Shapeshifter Romance) (12 page)

“Yes!” she hissed, grinning as she rode him as hard as he’d pumped her.

Gemma locked eyes with her demanding dragon as he kneaded her tits with his big palms, so obviously enjoying all that her body had to offer. “This is amazing,” she whispered, watching Devon’s muscles constrict and spasm as he teetered on the very edge of his release.

“Fuck, Gem…”

“Cum for me,” she said, and that was it.

Devon let out a roar, and his fingers dug so hard into her flesh that she was sure he would break skin. Her nails scraped at his biceps, holding on for dear life as he pounded into her, his thick seed filling her pussy.

Gemma didn’t want to get off. She watched him, bathed in the golden light of his treasure cave, completely sated and with that hazy look in his blue eyes that told her that he was as relaxed as he could ever be. She didn’t just see the billionaire dragon bastard she’d been seeing since moving in. There was softness there. Affection. Admiration even. The way he looked at her made her feel beautiful and valued.

Like someone who could make a difference in his life. Fighting back a rush of emotions, she slumped down on his body, resting her head on his chiseled chest. Immediately, his arms cradled her against him, his hand fisting in her honey hair.

“I think we’re going to have to come down here more often,” he said, grinning. She couldn’t have agreed more.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Devon

Devon’s life had certainly been on an upswing during the last few days. After the scorching hot session with Gemma in the caverns, he had been walking on cloud nine. Though everything wasn’t quite perfect yet (she still wouldn’t wear the things he gave her, and she’d taken the bracelet off as soon as they’d recovered from their little romp), at least she wasn’t avoiding his company anymore. She would join him for dinner, and he would seek her out daily in the library, stealing kisses when she least expected it and meeting only the most meager of defenses.

The way her tongue dipped into his mouth every time he went in for a kiss told him all he needed to know. He wasn’t in it alone anymore, and there was some comfort in that, even though there was still a long road ahead.

Each day that passed brought the gold moon closer – a fact that was certainly not lost on Devon Bluewing. Each night, he would take a long flight around the mountains and over Gold Valley in a desperate attempt to clear his thoughts, and each time, he would come up short. There was no getting over the fact that his immediate future loomed over him, as foreboding as it was promising. Yes, things were warming up between him and Gemma, but would she go through with the wedding voluntarily?

Or would he have to force her, driving a wedge between them again? And not only that, the other council members would doubtless want to witness the ceremony, so the pleasure and the pain wouldn’t even be a private affair.

His blood boiled at the thought of any of them even laying eyes on her. Until she was marked as his, anything could happen. This meant that he was constantly on high-alert, suspecting everything and anything of trying to ruin his budding happiness.

Devon could easily imagine himself ripping off the head of another dragon just because he thought to crack wise about his betrothed and how she hadn’t worn anything from his hoard yet. It made his stomach turn. Making Gemma Teeley do anything she didn’t expressly want to do wasn’t exactly an easy feat, even for a dragon with all the resources in the world.

So, it wasn’t any wonder that nothing but dread filled him when Jolly trundled into his study late one night, breathless and panting.

“What is it?” he asked, looking up from the draft of the rules of combat he was compiling to present to the council on his wedding day. His brows furrowed at the sight of the little man, so uncharacteristically out of sorts. Under his gaze, the servant straightened himself up, trying to look presentable but failing at it.

“Master Redblade is here, sir,” he said, his expression morose.

Fucking hell…

“Where is he? What does he want?” Devon asked, standing up and rushing out of the study with Jolly at his heels.

“He is on the roof, sir. And he didn’t oblige me with a reason.”

“Go stay with Gemma. I don’t want him anywhere near her,” Devon hissed through clenched teeth, receiving barely a nod in return from the servant as he skittered off quickly. For a passing moment, Devon thought he spotted a smirk on the man’s lips, but discarded it in favor of more pressing matters – like getting the fucking Redblade out of his house and away from his bride.

Devon ran through the mansion almost as fast as when Gemma called him. His heart pounded heavily, jealousy and rage broiling him from the inside out. He couldn’t stand the thought of another man near her when she still wasn’t entirely his. He couldn’t allow anything to happen to her. Those green eyes and pillowy lips were meant for him and him alone. Rationally, he knew that there was likely little to fear, but rationale didn’t work so well for his dragon, or his heart.

Devon took the steps to the roof three or four at a time, and when he burst through the door, his head was swimming with irritated thoughts and whispered threats. There, in the middle of the massive landing strip of a roof stood Remington Redblade, his huge wings partially outstretched, and his maw contorted in a bitter smirk, showing his long, deadly teeth.

Devon’s eyes narrowed. He fought the urge to shift as well. If intimidation was the game they were playing, he could easily match the blood red dragon. Still, he resisted.

It’s the time of the civilized dragon,
his father’s words rung in his ears. He’d never paid much heed to such wisdom before, but apparently fear for one’s mate made a man do every manner of improbable things.

“If you need to talk to me, Redblade, you better do it like a man. I’m not playing any games,” Devon said sternly, closing the door behind him. The dragon tilted its head a little, smoke flaring from its nostrils. Devon had to suppress a smirk – Redblades always did have a short temper.

With obvious reluctance, Remington shifted into his human form. Devon shoved his hands in his pockets, more to keep from strangling the other man for showing up when he was in mid-courtship than for any other reason.

“What can I do for you, Remington?” Devon asked, trying and failing at keeping the strain out of his voice. He watched the tall, gray-eyed man walk closer across the roof, all bitter Cheshire grins and shifty glances.

“Can’t a dragon simply drop by for a cup of gold or a friendly word?” Remington teased, coming to a stop some feet from Devon.

“You know I wouldn’t loan you gold if it was the last thing keeping you from an eternity in hell,” Devon said, returning the smirk. Remington nodded. No love lost between the families, as usual.

“I hear you’ve found a bride,” Remington said, turning to face the red sunset dancing behind the mountains.

“Who told you?” Anger threatened to consume Devon. How did the bastard Redblade know already? It didn’t take a leap of imagination to figure out that this could mean nothing good. His worry for Gemma tripled, and he wished he had her by his side now. At least then he could protect her.

“Oh, a little golden birdy,” Remington said, a distinctive slither to his words that made Devon’s skin crawl.

“That still doesn’t tell me what you
want
. What could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the gold moon?” Devon asked. The red glow of the sunset that settled around Remington made the wiry, strong man look even more menacing than he usually did. Devon didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him.

“I thought you would offer to introduce me to your bride, Bluewing. Isn’t it custom to show one’s friends his betrothed after she has been marked?” Remington asked, but the glance he gave Devon told him that there was no doubt that Remington already knew that Gemma wasn’t marked yet.

The marking of a dragon’s bride was a sacred, intensely personal thing and one that was not to be taken lightly. Not only was Remington toying with Devon’s patience, he was also getting dangerously close to insulting Gemma.

“You are not my friend, Redblade. And my bride is not for you to approve or disapprove,” Devon said, his words just a cover for the threat that rumbled in his tone. It was impossible to mistake for anything but a very clear sign for the red dragon to go quickly before his patience truly ran thin.

Remington smiled, shrugging with casual ease, as if nothing in the world was wrong at all.

“Careful, Bluewing. You never know when you might just need old enemies as new friends. But I can take a hint. I think it would be best if you go spend some time with your woman then. Who knows how long that newfound bliss lasts, hmm?”

Devon cocked a brow at his words, barely keeping the rage inside of him at bay. He hadn’t been noticing, but he was blocking the only door that led down into the mansion with his body, as if willing the other man to keep away from Gemma with pure physical presence alone. He didn’t like the way he spoke, though, and an icy fear gripped his heart.

What is he plotting? The fuck could he be up to? If he harms one hair on Gemma’s head…

With most of the dramatics spared, Remington shifted back with elegant ease. His body elongated and burst with red scales, covering him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His transformation was effortless and fast, and before Devon could get very far with his dark thoughts, the man had turned and swooped off of the roof, his gigantic wings carrying him towards the mountains in the distance with just a few motions.

As soon as Remington had cleared the roof, Devon spun around on his heel and ran back into the mansion.

“Gemma!” he called out as his feet hit the stairs, flying down the steps. He yelled her name as he ran through the corridors, fear pumping the cold through his veins, replacing the blazing heat that was usually there. He knew something was wrong. It had to be. “Gemma!” he growled, coming to the corridor that led to their bedrooms and almost colliding with the wall as he took a sharp left towards her door.

From a distance, he could see that her door was open and warm light spilled out into the corridor.

Fuck, no! Let her be okay!
He thought frantically, his hands balled into fists and his dragon fighting to be released.

When he came to her doorway, he stopped, gripping the doorframe with both hands. Her room looked like she had just been there – heavy leather bound tomes were scattered on the bed sheets and the pillow still had a dent where her head had rested. And right there, in the middle of the room on the plush Persian rug sat the gold, emerald and sapphire bangle she had worn when he had made love to her. Bile wanted to rise up in his throat.

“Gem…” he murmured, the full realization of what had happened to her descending down upon his shoulders, threatening to bring him to his knees. But he didn’t crumble. Through the numbness, his dragon roared, and with that, the ice in his veins was replaced with fire once more. Someone had taken his princess. And they weren’t going to fucking get away with it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gemma

All Gemma could see was red. Her mouth tasted of copper, and when she opened her eyes enough to peek out from under her long lashes, the world had seemed to take on a distinct red hue. A small moan tumbled over her lips, and just hearing the noise made her head throb with pain. She closed her eyes again. Experimentally, she tried moving her limbs a little, only to find that her wrists were bound together behind her back. For some reason, that didn’t surprise her.

Where the hell am I… Devon!

Gemma hurt all over and a steady, sullen ache took her whole body and blanketed her with its icy grasp. Faintly, she could tell that the room she was in was warm, and whatever she was lying on felt soft and downy. Not exactly the situation one expected to wake up in with tied wrists and a headache unlike any other.

Gemma blinked again, trying to get her bearings. The room smelled and felt different from her bedroom in Devon’s mansion, so she knew she wasn’t there. Though the throbbing in her head left little room for any conscious thought, she tried her best to remember what had happened. Through a haze of pain, she could remember reading another book of dragon lore and their ancient traditions, when Jolly had burst in through her door, wearing a sneer both terrifying and disgusting at the same time.

She’d scrambled away from him across the bed, immediately sensing that he had bad intentions, but the vile little man had grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her down to the floor.

She remembered struggling, but he was so much stronger even with his portly stature. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was him reaching for the heavy tome of a book and smacking her over the head with it. That’s where her memory stopped.

The pulsing bump on the side of her head must have been where he hit her. It radiated stinging spider webs of cold through her, and it was only through desperate determination that she managed to open her eyes again, blinking them a few times when they filled up with tears.

Just breathe, Gemma… Focus,
she told herself, willing herself to be bigger than the pain. Deep breaths gave way to some relief, and soon, she could open her eyes in earnest, as fuzzy as her sight currently was. Her suspicions were confirmed – she was in an unfamiliar bedroom, tied up on a bed that was as wide as it was tall, and the red she had seen came from the maroon red and gold wallpaper she had been staring at. Whoever had decorated that place had a real preference for the blood shades – everything from the walls to the bed sheets was crimson.

Just as she was turning around, trying to figure out where the hell she was and why she was brought there, the door leading into the room creaked open. Hurried footsteps trundled in, and before Gemma could try to turn around, the sneering face of Jolly appeared in her vision. He was carrying a small washbasin, and the glee in his eyes made him worthy of his name for the first time ever. He truly was glad to see her in her weak, powerless state – there was no doubt about that.