To stop the endless torture, he untangled himself from her seductive warmth. Since the kind of release he longed for wasn’t going to happen, and he wasn’t interested in a hand job, he’d settle for a brutalworkout.
Satisfied that she was warm and the burning logs would last for several hours, he left the room and jogged upstairs to Nik’s chamber. The warrior didn’t sleep. Ever. He lay sprawled on his bed in a freezing room more barren than his own, and still in his patrolling gear. An arm flung over hiseyes.
“Nik”—he nudged his shoulder—“let’sgo.”
“Fuck, Dag-man,” he grunted. “I just got in. Go annoyRace.”
Race was worse than all of them when it came to his solitude. He completely shunned everyone and rarely stayed at the monastery, preferring his mountainouscaves.
Dagan dematerialized to the summit some distance from the monastery, determined to haul him out of his hidey-hole. As he took form, the brisk winds slapping his bare chest barely registered. There, on the plateau, he found Race, still in his patrolling gear, minus ashirt.
Despite the dark sky, the cold, pale moonlight emphasized the warrior’s flowing silver hair, broken only by the strip of black at the front. Brandishing curved twin blades, he moved with a deliberation that was as lethal as the steel of his dragonblades.
From the dying Lemurian pantheon, Eracier—aka Race—was one of the few of his kind left, and every bit as deadly as the black dragon warrior he’d been spawned from. He looked up and smirked. “Wanna play,Sumerian?”
Dagan didn’t respond to the taunt, summoning one of his manyswords.
Race’s twin blades vanished, and a broadsword appeared in his left hand. He flew in the air, weapon swinging. Dagan lunged and countered. They spun around each other, slicing, blocking, andattacking.
“You’re in a mood,” Race grinned, revealing his own pointy canines. A deadly reminder that those fangs became a mouthful of deadly chompers when he shifted into his huge motherfucking alterego.
“So…” An eyebrow cocked. “You found your mate, eh? I smell her onyou.”
Dagan said nothing, anger, longing, and frustration roiling throughhim.
“Human then,” Race murmured. “Sure sucks. But let’s work that fury outta you. I’m in a moodmyself.”
Dagan didn’t ask why. There was only one thing that drove Race—drove them all—these centuries since their release fromTartarus.
Revenge.
