Page 8 of Pregnant With Their Babes

But then they eddied back to turquoise.

Frowning, he watched the maelstrom of colors swirling in the depths. Somewhere deep inside his mind he sensed something was amiss. The spark of magic… it seemed to emanate from the man.

Is that what had saved him from drowning?

Dagr’s stare again went to Oz’s. So many questions churned in the depths of his friend’s eyes. Questions they both likely had and feared voicing. How… how had this man survived? Where in the world had he come from?

“Where… are we?” the living dead man asked, his voice raspy.

“Not far off the coast of the Eirish Isles,” Oz answered. “We should dock in the port town of Galford before long.” Oz paused a moment, his gaze washing over the stranger’s face. “Is that where you’re from?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

“You must be from somewhere close,” Oz pressed.

“No,” the stranger repeated.

Dagr eyed the long, red hair and the alabaster skin and knew the man appeared as if hewasfrom the Eirish Isles. But why would he lie? “Whereareyou from?” He hesitated for a moment when the man’s ever-changing regard fell on him like a strike of lightning. “And how did you get out in the middle of the sea?”

“Your skin,” the living dead man murmured before stroking his hand over Dagr’s. “It’s so…beautiful.”

Dagr nearly hissed in pleasure-pain. A powerful need took hold. The barest touch of the man’s hand on his had him reeling. When the man gazed up again, the look of adoration in his eyes was enough to send all of Dagr’s questions flying. Need burned in his gut. The need to make the man his.

To claim.

He took the stranger’s head in his hand, cupping the man’s nape…

“Dag?”

Dagr tilted his stare and saw Oz glaring at him.What in the hell was I about to do? In front ofevery manaboard this ship?

“Mayhap we give tha man sumtin’ ta wear?” Mr. Tyler, the quartermaster asked, thankfully pulling the attention to himself. “Can’t have him walkin’ ‘round nekkid as tha day he wuz borne. Mayhap a blanket from yer chest, Cap’n?”

Oz nodded and waved the man off. No one spoke as Mr. Tyler sent one of the cabin boys off in search of something to cover the stranger in.

“What’s your name?” Oz asked.

Dagr drew in a breath, waiting impatiently for the answer. Not only did he need to hear the man’s voice again… the name… it mattered. For what reason, he was unable to fathom. The weight of need settled on his chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Llyr,” the man whispered hoarsely before lifting a hand to his throat. He swallowed painfully, his handsome face twisted in discomfort.

“Rest your throat,” Dagr assured as he rubbed the man’s shoulder. “We can ask more questions later.”

Llyr’s gaze returned like the sun shone down on him. Warmth filled Dagr’s chilled body, and need… the need to claim again took root. His whole body trembled from the war within. He had to control himself.

Had to.

A blanket was handed to Dagr. Covering up a body that beautiful was a sin, but it had to be done. He glanced around at the crew, realizing they could see too much. He fought the desire to send them as far away as possible as it roared in his veins—there was only so far one could go on a ship. Dagr scowled at those who stared too hard.

Looked too closely.

Mine.

His hands stilled as the word whispered through his mind.

“Help me get him up,” Oz murmured to Dagr.

With the assistance of Oz and Dagr, Llyr rose shakily to his feet. They draped the woolen blanket over his shoulders, hiding all that luscious flesh Dagr had no right to call his. Skin he craved to explore with his tongue, lips, and fingers.

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