Kinked (Elder Races, #6)

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. The time on the screen read 8:32 P.M. He thumbed the lock off and dialed Rupert at the bar. “Hey boss,” the half troll rumbled. “Glad you’re back in town. Aren’t you a little early?”


It took a few moments for Quentin to connect. Rupert was referring to their original two-week ban from New York. He said, “Never mind that, things have changed. I’m on my way home now. Stock my fridge with food from the corner grocery, would you?”

“Sure thing,” said Rupert.

“Thanks.”

“Since we’re talking, can you answer some bar questions?”

“No.” He disconnected.

A hospital representative caught them before they could slip out one of the exits, and Aryal had to sign release forms after all.

By the time their taxi pulled up to Elfie’s, it was past ten o’clock. After the summer heat in Numenlaur, the early April evening was pleasantly sharp and chilly. The bar was going strong, which was a good thing because he just remembered he didn’t have his keys. They could slip upstairs through the interior entrance, except …

He looked at Aryal’s pale, angular features as she watched the crowd in the bar. No way was he up for that kind of explanation. Not until tomorrow. Or maybe next week. “Are you all right with waiting on the stoop while I go inside and let us through?”

“Yep,” Aryal said. She looked kind of dreamy, like she was stoned.

“Are you okay?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yep,” she said again. “I feel pretty good, considering.”

He left her and went through the bar. People hailed him, and everybody hitched to a stop, staring at his face and at the scrubs. He waved to them all, ignored the chorus of comments and shocked questions, strode through to the stockroom, let himself into his private stairwell and found Aryal sitting on the stoop outside, leaning against the corner of one wall.

He opened the door and bent over her—and found her sound asleep.

He gathered her up gently, carried her upstairs and put her, and himself, in bed.

His exhausted, overstimulated mind ran compulsively through the survival list.

Food, water, shelter, clothing.

Love.

He pulled Aryal’s sleeping form against him, tucked her head into his shoulder, put his face in her soft, clean hair and slept.

Sometime in the middle of the night, they both woke. Their body clocks were all screwed up. They made love with silent urgency and fell asleep afterward while Quentin was still inside of her.

That dictated the pattern of the next few days.

Waking, making love. Eating, making love. Sleep. There was a disjointed rhythm to all of it, like tacking in a zigzag pattern in a sailboat against a crosswind.

He lost himself in the sensual evidence of her, her scent, her skin, her deadly, sleek muscles, the startling softness of her breasts and the incredibly lush prison of her inner flesh as she gripped his penis. And he moved, and moved, and moved inside of her until they both sobbed for breath and shuddered helplessly from the ecstasy of it. That wild, dangerous part of him that had been running so hard knew that it had found what it was looking for, and had finally come home.

When they talked, there was no beginning or end to the conversation. It was as if it had gone on forever. He began to wonder if that was a little bit like what Aryal had referred to the night of the sentinel party, when she had talked of immortality.

His father had always sworn that while Quentin could change into a Wyr form, his energy felt Elven. He had a feeling he was going to find out with Aryal what immortality was like.

“What could Pia be?” Aryal asked. “Did she bleed when she healed you too?”

“Yes,” he said. They lay with their limbs tangled, and she cradled his head on her breast. He mouthed her nipple without urgency. They had already spent each other. “I can only think of one creature.” He said it slowly, because the idea was so outlandish. “But I thought they were a myth.”

“A myth like dragons, or harpies?” she asked, her mouth tilted, and he had to concede her point. “If she is one, then I understand now why she hasn’t revealed her Wyr form to the public. She’ll be hunted for the rest of her life if she does, and what about the baby? No, that’s not right. We know his Wyr form is a dragon. That’s why they thought her gestation period was going to be so long, until he managed to flip into a human baby before she went into labor.”

“If she is one,” he said grimly, “it doesn’t matter what the baby’s Wyr form is. He’ll be hunted too.”

“I guess I can understand why Pia came with Dragos to Numenlaur,” Aryal said sleepily. “But I don’t know why they brought Liam with them.”