Dark Promise. M. L. Guida

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СКАЧАТЬ body and a black duster jacket clothed him, but did little to warm him. He shivered, clenching and unclenching stiff fingers. He jammed his gloved hands into his jacket.

      Behind him lay a black sinkhole as wide as the Grand Turquoise Canyon back home. Back in the Underworld, the temperature never fell below seventy, but he wasn’t home. Here in the Rocky Mountains on a winter night, the ground rumbled. Dirt and snow closed the fracture.

      Frosted pine and naked aspen trees decorated the park and lined an icy path. Last time he was here, he’d been a boy. His parents brought him for a vacation. Walter Byron Park was the gateway between two worlds, unknown to humans.

      He exhaled and foggy breath swirled around him. Fresh jasmine overpowered the mountain pine. Cassandra. Thanks to his dragon ancestors, he could smell his mate a hundred miles away. His dragon fire roared, boiling his blood, raising his body temperature, sweat running down his back.

      Pursuing the scent, he jogged past jagged icicles hanging from picnic tables and benches and snow covered green monkey bars, a wooden teeter-totter and curvy metal slide. A wooden sign read Walter Byron Park.

       Murder. Murder. Murder.

      As he picked up his pace, he gulped mountain air, easing the fire back to a flicker. Shit, he wasn’t even by her yet. What would happen when he found her? When he touched her? He had to manage his dragon fire or he’d terrify Cassandra. He wanted to win her heart, see her smile and hear her laugh. A demonic inferno would have her scampering up a pine tree like a frightened chipmunk.

      His boots crunching on the ice, he followed her titillating scent across a bridge, over a frozen river and down a dimly lit street. In front of a large two-story white home with a turret, a snow covered sign read Galena Mountain Street Inn. Cassandra was in there. Not caring if the inn had a room, he marched up to the front porch and ripped open the oak door.

      Eric squeezed between the hideous purple settee and coffee table to get to the desk. The clock over the front desk read one AM, but he rang the bell anyway.

      Bloody hell, where did one find such mismatched furnishings? He reached to hit the bell again when a door creaked.

      A yawning blond woman shuffled to the counter. “I’m Isabella. Are you Steven? We’ve been waiting for you. Running a little late, aren’t you?”

      “No, I’m not Steven, but I need a room.”

      She flipped limp, disheveled hair out of her eyes and frowned. “You are?”

      “Wyvern. Eric Wyvern.”

      “Do you have any identification?”

      “Yes.” He gave her the license.

      She examined it, glancing back at him several times before she handed it back. “We had a cancellation. You’re lucky Mr. Wyvern.”

      He wondered if it was coincidence. His magic might be gone, but obviously the Wraith still possessed hers.

      Clutching the key, he headed up the burgundy-carpeted stairs to the room. The sweet perfume of jasmine permeated from behind a door. He stopped. Cassandra was in there. He gripped the doorknob, but forced his hand back.

       Control. Get a hold of yourself, man.

      He opened the door across from Cassandra’s and turned on the lights. It was too much of coincidence for him to get a room so close to Cassandra. Definitely the Wraith’s intervention. Shutting the door, he tossed the keys onto a nightstand next to a bowl of shriveled up flowers. He whipped off his jacket and hung it in the closet.

      A chill hung in the air and he wanted to have a glass of wine and warm his shivering body. Instead, he stripped, shut off the lights and climbed into bed. Hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t have time to waste. What if Cassandra refused to come? She didn’t have much choice. He would not let his people die.

      No demon had ever been mated to a human, but the Wraith had foreseen his union with Cassandra. The Wraith was never wrong. What if this time her vision failed her?

      Tomorrow there would be no more dreams. Tomorrow he’d be able to touch, kiss and suck her satiny skin. How the hell would he be able to sleep?

      Wanting her to desire him when they met, he drew upon his magic. His spirit hesitated to come forth. Shit, this had never happened before. Struggling, he forced his spirit to infiltrate Cassandra’s dream.

      * * * *

      Clad only in her nightgown, Cassandra Wright walked barefoot through Walter Byron Park. Snow covered the ground. Why wasn’t she cold?

      Leaning against an aspen tree, arms crossed over his naked chest, he smiled at her, the man who’d haunted her dreams since she was sixteen. Every dream ended with delicious lovemaking. He’d never told her his name, and each time, he left her quivering in bliss.

      Her normal cautiousness fled. Wicked desire filled her and she wanted to run her hands over his muscles, feel his strength, but she stayed rooted in the snow.

      His muscles glistening, he unfolded his arms and approached her, his black leather pants hugging sculpted thighs, black boots outlining powerful calves. He motioned. “Come here, Cassandra.”

      Her heart quickened. She wanted to do anything and everything he asked. Even if she couldn’t breathe or think with wanting him. She obeyed him.

      He grabbed her and pulled her to him. Taller than any man she knew, he could crush her, but he never did in her dreams. His rough wild lips captured hers, and he swept an arm around her waist.

      She was safe, cherished, coveted that only he could conjure. Cassandra wove her fingers through his long thick hair, wanting to feel his silky strands caressing her. Indulging in the kiss, she swirled her tongue, tasting his seasoned masculinity.

      He broke the kiss and hoisted her nightgown over her head. The gown dropped onto the icy ground. Passion filled his eyes as he pulled her to him. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

      She slid her arms around his neck and he glided his big hands down her back, slipped them under her panties and kneaded her buttocks. Wanting to feel the strength within them as he moved, she drifted her hands down to his brawny shoulders. He was powerful, a warrior, her warrior.

      Calloused hands skimmed her heated skin. She shivered. He cupped and played with her breasts, squeezing and pulling her nipples. He was hard and muscular while she was all curves and he glided his hands over her every curve, setting her on fire. God, she wanted him, demanded him.

      His steaminess turned her into a sultry snow bunny.

      Her dream lover stared at her, his hooded brown eyes brimming with passion. Possession. Ownership. Raw sensuality. She ached for him, itchy to touch him. He lowered her down to the snow bank and rather than icy cold, a feathery and soft downy snow quilt cushioned her. With him, here in her dream, she could satisfy her wild side, play the harlot, rather than being safe, logical Cassandra. Her heart beat wild as his dark head lowered and he drew her nipple into his hot mouth, sucking hard enough to send her head spinning.

      Running her hands over the heated contour of skin, she spread her fingers, feeling the strong ridges of muscles and tracing the straight line of his spine, knowing this inflamed him. She knew every crevice, СКАЧАТЬ