Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (14 page)

He waited for her agreement, though it took all his control to do so. And when she finally dipped her chin in acknowledgment, it was all he could do to continue to move slowly. He let his hand slide down her leg, stroking the soft fabric of her trousers before slipping underneath the shirt. Then, as he gently directed Mobray with one hand, the other slipped up her thigh, barely brushing across her hip before flattening against her belly. She whimpered in protest, and he knew he could not move his hand where he wanted. So he slid it upward instead, moving over her belly jewel, the hard nub firing in his mind with an eroticism he had not expected.

Biting his lip, he somehow managed to control himself. But only barely. And so, with more speed than finesse, he lifted his hand until he cupped her breast. She gasped and grabbed his hand, holding him still. He could feel the furious beat of her heart beneath her tender flesh.

"Tell me something first," she said, her voice breathy.

"Anything."

"How do you kill dragons?"

He frowned, startled. Many women were excited by bloodthirsty tales, but he had not guessed her to be one of them.

"How do you avoid the fire?" she pressed. "And their claws?"

Her heartbeat was steadying beneath his palm, and her grip on his wrist was easing as she grew accustomed to his hand. "It is not a pretty thing," he answered, understanding now that she needed time. "Are you sure you want—"

"I want to know," she insisted. "How do you kill them?"

"Poison," he answered, and felt her start in surprise. "It is the only way with a mature dragon. But that is why I hunt them young. If I can find them as an egg or before the fire develops—

"Then it is easy to kill them."

"Killing is never easy," he returned. "Or it shouldn't be. My best skills are as a tracker of eggs."

She was silent a moment and her grip eased even more. He didn't dare move his hand yet, though his thoughts were almost totally consumed by the desire. He waited, annoyed by how much control was required for this simple act of patience.

"Don't you find them beautiful?" she whispered. "Mama once told me that the eggs can glow just before hatching. That magic is something beyond understanding. It fills your body with peace, security. Even love." He heard the yearning in her voice and knew that, like him, she ached from loneliness. Like him, she craved the simplest touch out of friendship without compulsion.

And so he moved his hand. Though his mind burned with the need to possess her, he shifted until he tucked his hand around her waist, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Once, when I was young. Dag Racho brought me to meet his Copper. I had never seen one so close before. He was huge."

"Awesome beauty," she whispered, and he knew she was thinking of that moment in the city and the Copper's plume of fire bursting just above them.

"Terrible beauty," he agreed. He returned to his story. "I think the beast tried to speak with me then, back at court. I was allowed to touch it, to feel the heat of his skin, the hard ridges around his eyes and even the beginnings of the soft underbelly. I felt his magic enfold me in warmth, just like you said. Only it felt sad as well. So very sad."

She twisted slightly to look at him in question, but she didn't speak.

He shrugged, wishing he had better words to explain. "I was half in love with it just from that one touch. The magic was so strong." Even now, the memory slipped into his thoughts, dark and insidious. "Mind to mind, thoughts to thoughts."

"To never be alone," she whispered, and he knew she understood. "I want to hold a baby dragon," she added. "They are said to look like funny chickens, with leatherlike feathers, but when they look at you, all you see is love."

She was romanticizing the beast, just as everyone did. Everyone who didn't know better. "Then I saw it eat, Natiya. The blood ..." Kiril swallowed, wishing he could forget the screams and the mess. "I was sick for three days just from the smell."

Natiya frowned, but her hand stroked the back of his wrist in comfort. "All things eat. And all beasts are messier than humans."

He shook his head, tightening his hold on her. "It was my cousin. Five years old, a little girl from my mother's side. She remembered me, but there was nothing I could do. It ate her like she was a sheep."

He shuddered in memory, and she twisted to look at him fully. He closed his eyes rather than allow her to see his tears. How foolish that, after all this time, the memory could still shake him, but it was like a living thing inside him, still screaming. Still dying.

Natiya touched his cheek, a tentative brush that he felt all the way to his toes. He turned his face into her palm because he could not stop himself. And in time, his breath steadied, his thoughts shifted to better things: her.

"Why do you blame the dragon?" she asked, before he could stop her with a kiss. "Dag Racho controls the Copper's food. Dag Racho chose the victim."

He took a deep breath, releasing as much anger as he could before he spoke, tucking his fury away into a tiny compartment of his mind so that he would not frighten her. "They are one and the same, Natiya, bonded and intertwined so that there is no separation. The beast eats with casual disdain. The man laughs as his dragon is satisfied." He pressed a kiss into her palm. "You do not know how the beast twists a man. It starts as an egg whispering poison into his mind. Quiet and slow, the corruption eats away until all that is left is a beast in a man's form."

She shook her head, pulling her hand away from his mouth. "No. No, it is not like that. The man retains his goals, his plans." She swallowed. "Maybe it is the man who corrupts the dragon."

He focused on her, knowing he had to disillusion her. He had seen this kind of dragon worship before; it was built on ignorance and lies. "Many years ago, I learned of a scroll. It was written before Dag Racho was born and described the bonding process in detail—its risks and its purpose."

She straightened, her eyes bright with interest. "What did it say?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Racho found it before me and had it destroyed."

"But the man who had it?"

"Killed."

"The place it was hidden—"

"Burned to ash by the Copper."

She grimaced and slumped back down. "He destroys everything," she said angrily. "Burns it, kills it. Like the people in the square—burned for no reason." She shot him a heavy look. "But it is not the dragon. It is the man."

Kiril shook his head. "They are one and the same."

When she didn't answer, he tucked her back more tightly against him. His hand still spanned her waist, idly stroking the smooth skin just below her ribs. "I did learn something, though, from that man's daughter."

She looked up. "What?"

"I helped her escape over the mountains," he said. "To a country where dragons are just a legend. In gratitude, she told me everything she remembered."

"What?"

He smiled wistfully as he pressed his cheek to Natiya's forehead. "She didn't know much. Only that her father said it wasn't supposed to be like this. That the bonding process was supposed to last for only a short time."

"How long?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Not the century and a half that Dag Racho has been in power."

"But then, is there a way to end it? Does the dragon die? The man?"

"I don't know."

"How do we know if it is coming? Why does it end?"

"I don't know."

"But—"

"Natiya!" he interrupted. "I don't know. And the Copper killed everyone who might."

"No," she answered with a huff. "Dag Racho has."

He didn't respond. They both knew what he would say: that their Emperor and his dragon were one and the same. But he didn't want to repeat the argument again. Instead, he pressed his lips to her temple, feeling a sweetness enter his soul. It was her, of course. It was having a beautiful, feisty, and intelligent woman resting so contentedly in his arms.

"I could ride like this for days," he whispered, startled to realize that he meant it. She didn't answer except to relax a little deeper into his hold.

He meant to remain like that until the inn, meant to relish the quiet novelty of a woman without demands or ulterior motives. But in time, the lust once again took hold. The more he rested—his hand against her waist, his wrist across her belly jewel—the more his thoughts turned to sex.

Unable to deny himself, he lifted his hand to her breast. She didn't stop him this time. Indeed, she breathed deeply, pushing herself into his cupped palm.

"You can tell me to stop," he whispered, all the while praying that she did not.

"I know," she answered. And when she said no more, he took it for permission.

Within moments, his other hand had delved quietly inside her shirt. Soon he touched both her breasts, stroking them, molding them, toying with their hard peaks while she trembled in his arms, her head dropping back against his shoulder as she exhaled tiny gasps of delight.

Chapter 7

Natiya could barely stand. In the time it had taken to reach the inn, Kiril had done things to her body that made her mindless with hunger. She knew he was using her, knew that the things he said were merely words men said to convince a woman to spread her legs. But, d'greth, it didn't matter. Those words were effective.

She knew he had told her things he never shared, and that made her soften toward him. Then he spoke honestly about his feelings in a way no man had ever spoken to her before: as an equal and a willing participant. He talked of his obsession with her, and she leaned back against him, making sounds that had never before passed her lips. She ached and wanted in a way that terrified her. There was so much at stake, so many worries; and yet when she felt his arms surround her, she didn't care.

At the inn he became discreet, gently easing away from her and refastening her clothing. Before he did, she hadn't even realized they'd arrived, and heat burned in her face at the shame of it all. Why, oh why, had the dragon egg chosen now to exert such a powerful hunger within her? But even as she mentally chastised the egg for its dominance, she knew she lied to herself and to it. The egg always hungered for new experiences; it always wanted to do more, to know more. Before now, she had been able to control the drive, control its curiosity. But not now, not this time.

Why? Because this time there was her own curiosity as well. For many seasons now she had wondered exactly why so many souls spent every waking moment consumed with the search for a partner. And if not for life, for the night. What did Monik know that Natiya did not? What did she feel that Natiya did not? Until now, she had resisted her curiosity. The danger and the fear had been too great.

But, now Natiya knew. And Kiril promised there was more and better to come. Except they arrived at the inn and she would have to stand and think and move her body when all it wanted was to return to his arms, his touch, his wants.

He was kindness itself as he helped her off his strange mount. Indeed, he treated her like a true lady as he held her arm, supporting her when her wobbly knees could do no more than quake.

The innkeeper obviously knew him. He did not even blink when Kiril ordered their best room and a hot bath for the lady. Then, as the man escorted Natiya upstairs, Kiril promised to bring food and better clothes as soon as possible.

Through all this, Natiya remained silent, her body straining for him, her mind spinning with thoughts too scattered to knit into coherence. Stop this! she ordered herself. She was not some mindless beast in heat with no thought except rutting. Something had changed. Dag Racho knew the truth now—that she incubated an egg—and would surely spend all his energies on finding her. But even more than that, something else was different. She had changed, or the egg had changed, or perhaps both at the same time.

She needed time to think, to sort through what had happened—what was happening—and to plan the next step. Rutting was a distraction. A powerful one, but a distraction nonetheless.

As she soaked in the hot bath, she decided that there would be no more touches from Kiril. Not until she had some answers. Not until she planned her next course of action. No matter how much she lusted—and indeed, she now could at least label the feeling—she would not give in.