He trailed his hands down her back, making her shiver, then cupped her bottom and jerked her into him for deeper contact. "Tell me."
"Well, I like to read books about big, strong warriors who love as fiercely as they fight, and I've always wanted one for my very own."
His lips twitched. "Now you have one."
"Oh, yes." The warm water made their skin slick and she rubbed against him, letting the peaks of her nipples abrade his chest, letting the plump head of his penis catch between her legs. "What I fantasize about is my big, strong warrior lifting me up, pressing my back into the shower tile and filling me."
He pressed her back against the cool tile and shoved inside her, deep and hard and scorching. Steam billowed around them, but it was the spicy scent of dragon and soap that filled her nostrils. He felt so good inside her, more exciting than climbing a mountain or bungee jumping from a bridge.
He pumped in and out of her, and she wound her arms around him. His strength beneath her palms filled her with heady power. He bit her neck, making her shiver. He spread her knees wider and pounded harder. She panted his name. Moaned his name. Gasped his name.
"Grace," he growled. "Mine."
And she was. Completely.
Darius held a sleeping Grace in the tight clasp of his arms.
She possessed inner strength, a giving heart and a deep capacity for love. Her smile gleamed brighter than the sun. Her laughter healed him. Actually healed him.
As he lay in the stillness of the night, with hazy moonlight enveloping him, he remained weak and sated from their loving. Long forgotten memories finally resurfaced, bits and pieces of his past, pieces he'd thought buried so deeply they'd remain lost forever. He didn't fight them, but closed his eyes, saw his mother laugh down at him, her smile as gentle and beautiful as the pristine waters that surrounded their city. Her golden eyes flashed merrily.
She had caught him with his father's sword, brandishing the weapon through the air with a dramatic flourish, trying to mimic the warrior strength his father possessed.
"One day," she said in that sweet, lyrical voice of hers, "your strength will far surpass that of your father." She claimed the sword from him and leaned the gleaming silver against the nearest wall. "You will fight beside him and protect each other from harm."
That day never came.
He saw his father, strong and proud and loyal, striding up the cliff that led to their home. He'd just come from a battle with the Formorians, had washed away the blood on his skin, but his clothing still bore traces. When he spied him, his father smiled and opened his arms. Seven-year-old Darius ran to him and threw himself into the waiting embrace.
"I've been gone only three weeks, but look how you've grown," his father said, squeezing him tightly. "Gods, I missed you."
"I missed you, too." He fought back a tear.
His strong, warrior father wiped the moisture from his own eyes. "Come on, son. Let's go greet your mother and sisters."
Together, they walked side by side into the small house. His three sisters danced around a fire, laughing and chanting, their long dark hair bouncing about their shoulders. They each possessed identical features, plump cheeks and such innocence it hurt to gaze at them.
"Darius," they called when they saw him, running to him first, though they'd seen him only a few hours ago. They shared a special bond with him that he could not explain. It had always been there, and would always remain.
He hugged them close, drawing in the sweetness of their scents. "Father has returned. Give him a proper greeting."
Their faces lit with their grins and they propelled themselves at the warrior.
"My precious hatchlings," he said, laughing through more tears.
Their mother heard their mingled joy and rushed inside the chamber. They spent the rest of the day together, not a single member of the family straying far.
How happy they'd been.
Here, in the present, a lone tear slid from the corner of Darius's eye. He did not wipe it away, but allowed it to trickle down his cheek and onto his ear.
As tuned to him as she was, Grace sensed his torment. She shifted to face him, her features alight with concern. "Darius?" she said softly. "It's okay. Whatever it is, it will be okay."
Another tear came, then another. He couldn't stop them, and wasn't sure he wanted to. "I miss them," he said brokenly. "They were my life."
She understood immediately. "Tell me about them. Tell me the good things."
"My sisters were like sunlight, starlight and moonlight." Their images filled his mind once again, and this time he nearly choked from pain. And yet… the pain was not the fearsome destroyer he had expected, but a reminder that he lived and loved. "Every night they created a small fire and would dance around the flames. They were so proud of their ability and were determined to one day create the biggest fire Atlantis had ever seen."
"They didn't fear being burned?"
"Dragons welcome and thrive in such heat. I wish you could have seen them. They were all that is good and right."
"What were their names?" she asked softly.
"Katha, Kandace and Kallia," he said. With an animalistic growl, he slammed his fist into the side of the mattress. "Why did they have to die? Travelers tortured and killed my sisters as if they were garbage."
Grace wrapped her arms around him and laid her head in the hollow of his neck. There was nothing she could say to ease his anguish, so she held him more tightly.
He rubbed at his stinging eyes. "They did not deserve such a death. They did not deserve what they suffered."
"I know, I know," she cooed.
He buried his face in the hollow of her neck and cried.
At last, Darius mourned.
CHAPTER 20
Grace riffled through the box of Kevlar vests she'd picked up downstairs. Darius knelt on the other side and pinched one of the heavy black vests between his fingers. His lips curled with distaste.
She watched him. His eyes shone with vitality, alive with gold, glistening with contentment. They had been like that since last night and hadn't changed. Hadn't even flickered with blue. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth had relaxed, as well, and there was an ease about him that warmed her heart. Oh, he still possessed that dangerous aura. Danger would always be a part of him. But the coldness, the hopelessness, were both gone.
How she loved this man.
"Try one on," she said.
Frowning, he tugged the material over his shoulders. She leaned over and worked the Velcro for him. "It's too tight," he said.
"If a bullet smacks into you, you'll wish it was even tighter."
He snorted. "How can these do any good?"
"Maybe you'll understand better after I show you how to use a gun." She raced to her kitchen and dug out the gun she'd stuffed into one of the drawers. She doubled-checked to make sure no bullets rested in the cylinder.
"This is a revolver," she explained when she stood behind Darius. Wrapping her arms around him, she placed the cold metal in his hands and curled his fingers in the correct places. "Hold it just like this."
His shaking fingers squeezed.
"Gently," she said, noticing how unsteady he suddenly seemed.
He tossed her a glance over his shoulder. "Who taught you these skills?"
"Alex. He said a woman should know how to protect herself." Fighting a wave of sadness, Grace steadied Darius's wrists by locking her palms underneath them. He might be more relaxed and at ease than ever before, but he battled that damn weakness and she didn't like it. The only time he seemed to recover his full strength was when he was sexually excited.
Grace wet her lips and purposefully meshed her breasts into the hard ridges of his back. "You want to keep your finger on the trigger and pick a target. Any target. Do you have one?"