Falk Clan Tales - Chapter 68: Chapter 68

Jozette woke up with Castor’s arms wrapped around her, and she’d never felt so safe and cherished in all her life.
“You are my treasure,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.
“Did I say that out loud?” she wondered.
“Yes,” he replied, and she felt him smile against her head.
“Are you hungry, sweet?”
“Mm mm,” she shook her head, wiggling happily against him and loving the recognizable swell of a certain something against her backside.
“Stop that, minx, or I’ll have to have you again,” he teased, kissing her shoulder and neck.
His hand cupped her breast, and he teased her nipples as he spread her legs. With one slow and unerring stroke, he filled her from behind. Castor’s magnificently thick cock felt so good inside her, stretching her just right, and stroking that secret place no one else had ever managed to touch.
“Yes,” she murmured, already wet and ready, seconds from coming.
With him buried deep, how could she not? Yes, she was going to explode again in passion, for him, with him, only him. Her Dragon lover.
“God, it gets better each time,” she whispered, still panting some long minutes or hours after.
“Indeed,” he agreed with her. “Making love with you has no comparison, my treasure. Your body is a wonderland, a feast for my eyes, mouth, and hands, and I am always starving for you,” he said with a playful growl in his voice as he turned her over to kiss her lips.
“Mmm. I need a toothbrush and a shower.”
“Yes? Can I join you?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“Hey, what is that?” Castor frowned, pulling the blanket away from her chest.
Jozette laughed, then looked at her body. What the what?
“How did that⁠—”
“I don’t understand,” he muttered, looking down at his chest than at hers.
True, the first time Castor made love to Jozette, she’d been too overwhelmed by passion and pleasure to notice the burning sensation on her chest. But now, in the light of morning, with the return of the electricity, she recalled feeling a stinging sensation there.
“Oh my God!” Jozette yelped as she stood up and ran to the bathroom mirror.
There had been a sort of electrical buzz on her body, but she’d assumed that was just from the friction. Of course, turning her head, she noticed the sharp pain she had felt on her neck was not what she’d assumed, a hickey gone wild, and was in fact, a bite.
“You bit me!”
“Um, well,” he hedged, brushing his hands over his mussed hair.
“And you tattooed me!”
“What? No I did not,” he said, then frowned, looking at the matching image on his chest.
“My garnet rose,” he whispered, touching it.
“‘Tis not possible.”
“Yes, it fucking ‘tis! I am looking at it, Castor!” Jozette yelled.
And it was there, plain to see in front of their eyes. She recalled his tattoo being a small wilted looking bud of a thing, but now it was a rose in full bloom etched in indigo and red ink. On her chest was the exact same image, smaller, but there.
Jozette gasped and skimmed the flower with her fingertips, noting that same buzz of electricity.
“Oh my God! Did you see that?” she asked.
Jozette repeated the movement and noting the blue and red flickers of light glowing from the rose.
"It is a legend,” he whispered, clearly shocked.
"What legend? What does this mean?”
“I am a Dragon Shifter, Jozette. A ChangeDragon, though I know not what that means entirely as I was imprisoned since birth.”
“I know, and I am sorry, but what does this mean?”
“I should have told you last night. You see, I am dying, Jozette. And in my selfish greed I wanted to have you, even if only for a short while⁠—”
Tears sprang to her eyes at his words, and she covered her mouth in horror. Dying? No! He could not be dying. He looked healthy. And he was magic, for fuck’s sake.
“Please do not cry, my treasure,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. “I am sorry. I did not know making love to you would produce a mark on your skin. I will find a way to fix it⁠—”
“I don’t care about that. What do you mean by dying? Castor, you can’t be dying!”
“I am afraid I am. The Dragons who freed me after Castle Blackthorne fell said it. They called me ChangeDragon and told me death was all I could hope for from my kind⁠—”
“This was why I hate fairytales,” she said and sat down heavily on the closed toilet, sobbing.
“The endings are always fucked up.”
"Sweet, please do not cry,” he said, kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands.
That act of compassion only had her crying harder.
“I am so sorry, my love.”
“I am the one who is sorry, Castor. You are dying. Why? How? Can we fix it?”
“I do not know. As for the rose, there were rumors in the castle of fated mates. Two souls destined for one another who shared a bond unlike any other. It is that which every Dragon aspires to, but I do not know all of what it means. All I know is I would never give my garnet rose to another.”
“Garnet rose?”
“Yes, my treasure. All Dragons have a stone and a rose. My rose has always been that of the blue garnet. Not at all common. Sort of like my ChangeDragon.”
“Okay. Look, I am not mad. And I don’t think you are dying⁠—”
“Jozette, I do not wish you to lie to yourself⁠—”
“No, listen. I am going to help you find your brothers, and we are going to get to the bottom of this.”
Then several things happened.
One, after Castor dropped the bomb about his garnet rose and possible death, the sexual haze that had filled the long night had already cleared. It was replaced by something deeper, calmer, but no less emotional.
Naked, and standing once more. Jozette cupped his cheek, resolved to help the man she’d shared her home, work, and body with. And she had the sneaking suspicion, also, her heart.
Two, the front door opened and Jozette froze instantly at the sound of her mother’s shrill yell, and her father nervously clearing his throat.
“Jozette! What on earth is going on here?”
Henry and Darla Keeper stood in their living room with pinched expressions on their pale faces. Their time away certainly had not improved their dispositions. Jozette grimaced.
She hadn’t been caught in the buff with a guy since she was seventeen and that had been prom weekend. Poor Mom and Dad had had the talk with her, but they were not at all happy with show and tell. A lesson she’d learned the hard way.
Eeek!
“Mom! Dad!” She slapped her hands over her mouth while Castor thoughtfully grabbed a towel and draped it in front of her.
“Who is that man? And is that the guest room mattress?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Keeper,” Castor said, wrapping a smaller towel around his waist. “I am Castor Falk.”
Oh shit.
Jozette shook her head and spoke up. As lovely as her parents’ new house was, they lacked the same charm and warmth that made the structure appealing. Something she hadn’t really thought about until right then.