Page 58 of The Phoenix

Brak churned over her, pulling out and slamming home, deeper each time. He rocked up. Down. Each stroke more frantic than the last.

He broke their kiss to push her legs over his shoulders, opening her wider. She had never experienced the lust she had for this male. She wanted to own him. All of him. Harley clawed his back, drawing blood, urging him to take her harder. When he did, she lost control, her head thrashing from side to side.

“Now, Brak,” she shouted. “Now.”

He tensed. His wonderful scent enveloped her again. Ripples of pleasure tickled her toes. Her muscles clenched. She arched into him, and her arms locked around his neck while she crashed like a wave against the rocks in a stormy sea. Not once. But twice. Three times. She ground her hips into the demon.

He didn’t stop. Brak threw back his head and roared, hammering into her. At first Harley thought her eyes tricked her when her lover’s shape wavered. Then steadied. Changed again. A beast flickered atop his skin.

Harley had read about this. Brak’s demon was uncontrolled, raw passion, wild in its possession. Rather than frighten her, it stirred her, excited her. This was the real Brak, the carnal demon who, if she wasn’t careful, would own her. When he spilled inside her, he forced another mind-blowing orgasm from her.

Resuming his more human form, Brak stilled, eventually relaxing his muscles, rolling to the side, taking Harley with him, a possessive hand clutching her ass, a leg thrown over her hip.

“I was … I,” Harley stammered, blushing when she thought of how she had urged him on, how she had reveled in his beast.

“You were fantastic.” He smoothed a hand down her hair. “Incredible.”

He nuzzled her neck while whispering, “Harley, I’m in new territory here. My beast has never shown itself during sex. Were you afraid? Neither of us would ever hurt you.”

“Maybe I should have been, but I wasn’t. Your demon self makes me hot. It’s a special part of you.” Suddenly, she didn’t mind giving Brak a piece of herself. He gave her something he had never shared with anyone else.

Still inside her, his cock pulsated, hardening. “Damn, female. I want you again.”

She rolled her hips, sliding her lids up to gaze at Brak. “What are you waiting for, demon?”

He stopped with the action, staring into her eyes. “Say, about the blood test you took.”

Chapter Thirteen

Roark stepped away from the sculpture, arms crossed over his chest, adamant in his assessment. “It’s Alexander with Blood’s Kiss.”

Indigo, Lynretta, and Amani, the curator of antiquities at the Alexandria National Museum, continued to fix their gazes on the bronze artifact of the Macedonian warrior on horseback, a crooked arm raised overhead, a sword gripped in his fist.

Amani rested a finger on her chin while she inched closer to Roark, rubbing shoulder-to-shoulder, her fascination with both him and the sculpture obvious. “Our researchers have not yet established this work as Alexander the Great. How can you be so certain?” Doe eyes pressured him for a response.

“My gut.”

“Why do I still get the feeling you haven’t shared everything?” Indy jutted out a hip, slammed a palm on it, and tapped her toe, either suspicious he was hiding intel or pissed he lapped up the attractive Egyptian curator’s attention.

They were in the basement of the museum where papers cluttered tables, tomes lined bookshelves, and machines, some large, some small, waited for data to be input. At their desks, two art analysts, who had been studying the ancient bronze figure, dating it, verifying the artist and the subject, stared at the visitors. Roark, however, had no interest in them, their research, or their advanced technology. He knew what he knew.

Indy leaned nose-close to the bronze sword.

“Do not touch,” warned the black-haired, golden-skinned Amani.

“You keep saying that. I’m neither deaf nor forgetful.” His witch returned her gaze to the ancient artifact. “From what I can see, those could be gems depicted on the hilt of the sword.”

“It is possible. Macedonians revered rubies,” explained Amani. “If this is Alexander, it is not a stretch to imagine his weapon would be studded with them.”

“Remember the Alexander Romance?” asked Lynretta. “Dragon tears?”

With interest sparking in Amani’s eyes, she slipped away from Roark’s side. “You are aware of dragon tears? Legend says the beasts weeped blood which hardened into rubies. Yes. It makes sense.”

“It does,” said Lynretta. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Indigo raised a hand, interrupting the geek knowledge lovefest. “Okay. Let’s say this sculpture is Alexander. He’s brandishing Blood’s Kiss, the hilt adorned with rubies. Where is it now?”

“He took it to the afterlife,” suggested Amani. “A possibility.”

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