won’t say her name. She means to kill us all, and I intend to live.”
“But this is the firestorm. Can’t you feel its heat? The firestorm trumps everything.”
“The firestorm?” Her tone became curious and she stopped struggling. She frowned a little, examining the light that flared between them, placing her hand on him then moving it away. She repeated the move, as if testing that the result was consistent. It was a delicious torment that turned Rhys’ thoughts in a predictable direction.
“You’re right. The light of Fae is silver, not gold.” She stroked his chest and the light flared to brilliance between her hand and his scales. They both caught their breath simultaneously and Rhys felt the acceleration of her heartbeat. His own matched its pace, a sensation that left him dizzy and he flew in a spiral with his eyes closed, wallowing in the pleasure of her touch.
His firestorm.
It was a dream come true. He would have a family again.
“What exactly is a firestorm?” she asked, her tone more practical than Rhys felt.
“An ancient power,” he replied in a low rumble. “The mark of one of my kind finding his destined mate.” Their gazes clung and Rhys felt his mouth go dry. She was beautiful.
To his surprise, she laughed. It was a wonderful sound, like a thousand silver bells. She surveyed him with amazement. “Destiny? I’m not sure I believe in that.”
“I’m not sure you need to.” Rhys pulled her closer, creating a flurry of sparks between them and sending a simmering heat through his veins. He watched her take a deep breath, savoring the sensation, then she considered him with sparkling eyes.
“So, this is how a dragon is brought to his knees,” she said, teasing him.
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “You’re beautiful.” He meant it. Even without the firestorm, he would have been struck by her beauty. She was naked, so he could see a lot of her skin. As he glanced down, her nipples tightened but she didn’t blush or avert her gaze.
“You aren’t so bad yourself,” she said and ran a hand across his chest, creating a line of flames that made them inhale in unison. She met his gaze and lifted a brow. “Although, a dragon. That sounds like playing with fire.” Her lips twisted at her own joke and he hoped she might laugh again.
“Pyr is what we call ourselves.” He recalled that she had powers of her own. “What do you call your kind?”
“Selkies.”
He hadn’t imagined it, then. She had turned to a seal. “I didn’t think selkies were real.”
“We nearly aren’t,” she replied, a little sharply, then eyed him. “I was pretty sure dragons weren’t real,” she continued with that same wry humor. He could have listened to her, with that accent, all day—or all night. “But you look pretty solid.”
“I am.” They were flying over the water, but Rhys heard waves on that beach ahead of them. He changed his course, wanting a kiss.
“But turn out the light,” she urged. “We don’t want to be seen by her.”
“I can’t. There’s only one thing that extinguishes the light of the firestorm.”
She started to ask, then their gazes met and he saw that she understood. “You’re kidding me. Not while you’re a dragon.”
“Not while I’m a dragon.” Rhys soared toward the beach, landing with a flourish. He felt filled with new power and grace, and he knew his shift to human form was perfect. He landed on his feet in the shallows with his mate cradled in his arms.
“Wow,” she said, running a hand over his shoulder as if she couldn’t stop herself. A sizzle of fire trailed after her touch, leaving Rhys sizzling. “Very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes danced as she met his gaze. “Although the red and silver scales were very striking.”
Rhys grinned. “I’m glad you approve.”
There was a distant boom of thunder and her panic returned. She spared a glance upward. “She is watching! I have to go.” She wriggled against him again. If she wanted him to release her, the movement had exactly the opposite effect. Rhys’ embrace tightened and his desire rose.
“It’s just a storm,” he said, trying to soothe her.
“She certainly is,” she said, her eyes flashing. It was clear that she meant to flee, but Rhys wanted that kiss first.
“Just one kiss before you go,” he entreated. “For the firestorm.”
She caught her breath, looked at his mouth, then glanced up again. “Or you’ll hold me captive until I do?” There was a warning in her tone and Rhys understood