Page 11 of The Dragon's Omega

Splayed on his back, arms limp at his sides, Vidar breathed slow and steady with his eyes closed. His scent swirled around me, his alpha presence potent, heavy but not smothering, and I leaned into its gravitational pull. The inferno in my core tempered, the monster pleased with this offering of breathtaking alpha, and softened to a pleasant warmth that hummed in my clit. Every omega instinct begged me to touch him—to straddle his hips and slip that cock inside.

Ease the ache once and for all.

I brushed the hair from his forehead instead with shaky fingers. Dark caramel brown fell well past his shoulders, the waves bushy, wild, and in need of a good brushing. He had an equally unkempt full beard, though, thankfully, it wasn’t long and scraggly. No, it was rounded and just past his chin, tinged with wispy grays and a touch of copper.

An oval face. A straight nose with a slightly pointed tip. Gaunt cheeks. A ragged, faded scar that slashed from his left temple down and back, its end hidden under his beard.

Having spent the last few years paying my rent with book cover art, I was primed to the small details, especially around the face. I slaved over my work, hell-bent on giving my authors, my clients, my friends, a near perfect match to the character they saw in their head. Same as his dragon side, I wanted to paint him. Discover every nuance. Explore every line, every glorious peak and valley.

With my tongue.

I flinched at his soft groan, his face screwed in pain. Had I… said that out loud? I bit down on the tongue that craved a slow, sensual exploration of his body, then stole another look at his chest.

Oh.

How the hell had I missed that?

There, nestled in amongst his chest art, was a bruise the size of a fucking football. It roughly matched where I had pulled the arrow out on his dragon body, a garish bullseye in the middle of his chest, and sported a furious mess of black, purple, and blue. To its credit, it blended well with the maze of tattoos there, but now that I saw it, I could never unsee it.

Another rumble had me glancing back to his face, and there my widening gaze stayed when I caught him studying me beneath dark, heavy eyelids.

“Vidar?” His eyes opened a little more, and my heart skipped a beat at the way his lips kicked up. With a soft breath, I shuffled closer, pebbles and sand gritting into my knees. “Hi.”

“I-I…” His voice was pure rasp, gruff but undeniably lovely. “I heard you.” The alpha swallowed hard and winced. “In the dark.” After a hard blink, he opened his eyes wider and took what struck me as a painful breath. “Thank you…”

He trailed off, mouth opening and closing, dark gaze searching my face like it was one he had seen long, long ago but he couldn’t place its name.

“Lianna,” I whispered, and my blush went nuclear at his almost boyish grin. It was the kind of smile that promised I’d thank this alpha after he snapped me like a twig. Dangerous—intoxicating.

“Lianna,” he rumbled, slow and thoughtful. His lashes twitched as his gaze roved my face again. “The omega who smells like…”

I waited on bated breath, the omega in my soul desperate to hear what came next. Vidar blinked hurriedly, his attention landing hard on my throat. Whatever I smelled like to him, he kept to himself. Before I could sulk, however, he raised one big hand to my face and brushed the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. His touch was electric, hot, the hiss of a freshly struck match—but gentle. So achingly gentle I was seconds away from my first ever swoon.

“Thank you, Lianna.”

The tightness in my core was all pleasure this time. It still smarted a bit, but it was miles better than a cramp. Maybe the heat was passing?

Or, given the sheer audacity of omega biology, this was the eye of the storm.

I managed a shy nod under the intensity of his gaze, then leaned into his hovering hand. It slowly turned, knuckles swapped for a fiery palm. Vidar cupped my face, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth, then my lower lip. The first sweep was gentle, his eyes glinting with affection, but then came the pluck and the gathering storm clouds. Another delicious clench rocked my core, twisting lower this time.

His eyes were green. Open fully now, locked on mine—they were hunter green.

My favorite. My nest at home was full of hunter green: pillows, blankets, all four walls and the ceiling.

He drew in a sharp breath, lips parted like he was about to say something, but then he winced and coughed. His hand fell to his bruised chest, and, grimacing, the alpha pushed onto his elbow with a low, frustrated growl.

“You’re still hurt.” I scooted over for a better look at the discoloration between the gaps of his fingers. “I thought maybe… Can you, uh, heal yourself?”

Ugh, cringe. I was speaking English, but referencing the supernatural, the fact that he was a fucking dragon, felt like stuttering through a foreign language of which I only had a few phrases down—barely. After all, my paranormal knowledge came exclusively from TV, movies, and a vast collection of smutty books. Still, in those, shapeshifters always had powerful healing abilities, and if they were real, the lore had to come from somewhere.

“I am sorry you have to see me like this,” Vidar muttered, blowing by my comment to glare down at himself. I sank back on my heels, shifting side to side to make my crunchy knees happier, and cleared my throat. Did he mean… see him naked?

Because. Yeah, nothing to apologize for there. He had to be, like, the prototypical alpha the rest were modeled after, and they were just pale imitations of the original.

“What d’you mean?”

“Weak.” He tipped his head side to side, leaning, stretching hard until he got a crack left and right. “I… I need…” Eyes closed, Vidar took another deep breath. “I need my heart.”

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