Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (18 page)

"Are you cold?" he asked, tightening his arms around her.

"No," she answered truthfully, then hugged his arms to her chest. "Just haunted by memories I'm not sure I understand."

She felt his smile against her cheek. "That, too, I understand."

They both fell silent, more in accord than ever before. But as they continued along the path, Mobray's monotonous rhythm merging into the inky night, Natiya felt melancholy build. She missed her family, even her little brother. She missed the life she had once lived. She no longer even knew if her memories were correct, and so she missed the security of those as well—the certain knowledge that her innocent parents had been wrongly destroyed.

She still believed in her task, and yet... Loneliness ate at her.

"Kiss me, Natiya. Please." His words trembled with an ache that echoed her own. Loneliness, grief and pain were all wrapped together in his request, offering her the simple relief of his touch—the only relief possible at the moment, and she welcomed it with open arms.

Their lips touched briefly, then separated as Mobray shifted his gait to accommodate the rising terrain. But the change was subtle, easily adjusted to, and soon their mouths connected again. Connected, deepened, and began a dance she was all too familiar with by now.

Pulling away, she turned to look out beyond the halo of firestick light. "I do not want to kiss you," she said to the enveloping darkness.

"I know," he answered, his voice equally flat. "I don't want to desire you either."

"I cannot stop these feelings."

He stroked his cheek along the side of her head. "I must have you, Natiya. I do not know why, but the need grows stronger and stronger with every breath, every touch."

"I know," she responded, not because of his words but because she felt an answering tide within her.

"I am a man, not a beast!" he said, his words angry.

"I will not be had by any of you," she returned, equally firm. And yet, for all their words, their hands had not been idle. His curled around her stomach, inching higher as they sought her breasts. Hers twisted her around so that she could look at him while she worked her fingers between the buttons on his shirt.

Moments later, his groan signaled a surrender—for both of them. Their mouths met and clung once again. Within her she felt the egg begin to stir, vibrating with an energy that could have come from it or from her. She didn't know and didn't care; all she knew was that it fired her senses, pushing her to greater hunger, greater need.

The buttons on her shirt were soon undone. Her breasts were exposed to the cold air only to be warmed by his large hands.

"Turn around," he urged. "Face me and put your legs on either side of my hips."

She shook her head, her words slipping out between kisses. "I'll fall."

"I'll hold you."

"It's too unstable. The ground is uneven." But even so, her legs were shifting, trying to maneuver.

"Mobray's very sure-footed."

"The firestick is falling!"

"I've got it."

"Amia!" she cried, invoking the goddess as he rescued the stick but lost her. She tumbled backward, falling off Mobray to land painfully on the very rocky ground. She knew the truth then; it came in a flash of the blindingly obvious as she watched the firestick twist and careen above her. She heard Kiril's curses as he struggled to control Mobray, the firestick, and the saddlebags that had come undone with her fall, all the while trying to see if she was hurt. She knew the truth then and accepted it with a liberating fatalism.

They were going to rut together, she and Kiril. Not just once, but likely many, many, many times. Despite the Emperor who hunted her. Despite the risk of discovery that her "belly jewel" grew and pulsed in a way that no cold stone could. Despite her resolve to keep everything the same until she understood the reasons behind and consequences of every action. Despite it all, she and Kiril would become lovers.

"Natiya! Are you all right?"

She laughed, feeling the humor shake through her like a small echo of the tremors deeper within. She laughed long and hard, and also with such joy that tears streamed from her eyes.

"Natiya? What is happening?"

She didn't know, so she couldn't answer. Or perhaps she did, because something else had just become blindingly obvious.

"I just figured out why my parents liked going to the caves. And all this time, I thought it was for scholarship."

He was silent for a long time as he stopped Mobray, resettled the bags, then dismounted. "They are clutching caves. The... sexual magic would be strong." He moved to her side.

She smiled, coming to her feet in a slow, languid movement. She glanced to the side, seeing Kiril swallow convulsively as she stretched her arms high above her, her naked breasts thrusting forward in the chill air. His gaze was riveted to her, his prock obvious even through the layers of his clothing.

How wonderfully powerful I feel, Natiya thought with surprise. How easy it was to reduce a strong, competent man into a mesmerized slave. "So, it is only the caves, you think?" she asked sweetly. Coyly.

Abruptly he turned away, his hands fisted and his shoulders rigid. "Dragon magic," he cursed, spitting the words out like bad meat. "Of course."

She felt her arms slip down as she stared at his back. "You don't like dragon magic?"

He lifted his chin but did not look back at her. "I use dragon magic. I will not be used by it." Then, before she could ask for more information, he spoke again, his words hard and cold, aimed at himself, not her. It was as if he were issuing orders to his own body. "I am a dragon hunter. I cannot be vulnerable to dragon magic in any form."

"But this—"

"Dragon magic," he continued, "is evil magic. It undoes the mind. It turns warriors into beasts. I will not allow it." Then, without hint or warning, he spun around, grabbing her firmly around the waist and lifting her onto Mobray's back. He grabbed the firestick, using it more as a walking stick than a light source as he gathered the reins and began to pull Mobray and Natiya forward.

"Kiril?" she asked when he did not join her on his mount.

"I will walk for now."

She stared at him, seeing the absolute determination in his heavy footfalls, his firm stride. She could hardly believe it, but the proof walked angrily by her side. The very moment that she finally succumbed to his seduction, to the sensuality that still shimmered just beneath her skin, was the very moment he resolved to disdain her. She ought to be thrilled—at least one of them remained rational—but instead she felt a childish irritation cutting at her. As if he had suddenly taken away her toys.

"And Natiya?" he said.

She straightened, hope sparking within her. "Yes?"

"Cover yourself. It will be even colder in the caves."

* * *

Kiril was losing the war. He knew it with absolute certainty, but he couldn't summon the will to care. In fact, he was having trouble remembering exactly why he was so intent on
not
bedding Natiya. She was beautiful, absolutely willing—or would be with a little encouragement—and yet he was stomping in front of his mount like a man on a forced march. What was wrong with him?

He didn't have to wait long for his answer. All he had to do was close his eyes and see Sabina as she had looked when Jaseen had finished with her. It had been near hatching time, so the magic ran strong within him, and like all the women, she had been entranced by his golden beauty, his rippling muscles and his sweet, innocent smile.

Kiril was eleven and already feeling betrayed by the cousin who had once been his friend. Not because of the brooch; it would be years before he learned of that small deceit. But because Jaseen's laughter mocked instead of expressed joy. His words cut rather than instructed. And he had no time for a young boy except to expose Kiril's ineptness at swordplay, at learning, at everything. And he was especially cruel when girls came by to watch.

So when Jaseen came for strategy lessons from Kiril's father, Kiril-the-boy slunk away in a self-pitying temper rather than remain close by to see what the dragon egg had done to his cousin. Which meant no one had been around to protect Sabina.

Kiril slammed the firestick into the ground, extinguishing the light, which was no longer necessary to cut the dawn mists. They were well into the mountains now, but they still had many hours left to travel before they reached the Wiaken Pass. Behind him, Natiya drowsed on Mobray's back. Ahead of him lay rocky terrain, sparse vegetation, and cliffs riddled with clutching caves. But with him—inside him—was the constant image of Sabina as she had appeared that day.

The sounds were what drew him from his tree fort. The woods were never very thick there, the underbrush long since cleared away by students who ran or wandered through the greenery. More than one couple had exchanged illicit kisses against the trees, so Kiril was used to hearing giggles and soft moans echoing all the way up to his tree fort.

But these sounds were different. Grunts—guttural, animal sounds mixed with muffled sobs. On some level, Kiril must have understood what was happening, because he brought his sword with him as he crept from his play place, but nothing prepared him for what he saw: Jaseen, his pants down to his ankles, contracting his buttocks with brutal force as he lay on top of a bruised and bloody Sabina. Kiril had called out—a stupid, childish mistake. He should have just chopped the monster's head off right then and there, but he had cried out—thereby alerting the beast—before he rushed forward, sword upraised.

He knew Jaseen's reactions were quick—knew it, but had not truly understood how a dragon enhanced a man's fighting skills. In the time it took for Kiril to rush to Sabina's side, Jaseen had lifted himself off her, readied himself, then smashed his fist directly into Kiril's face. Kiril went down like a stone only to have Jaseen follow.

His cousin's blows were brutal, punishing enough to break bones, but still Kiril fought as best he could. He'd kicked, struck, shoved, but in all that, Jaseen was only playing with him. They both knew Kiril could just scream—loud and long—and someone would come help. Someone who could have stopped it. But Jaseen had never allowed Kiril the breath, and Kiril had been too young to know how to prioritize energy, how to protect his ribs long enough for a single long bellow for help.

Jaseen could have killed him then, probably would have but for Sabina. She could have run or screamed or done something, anything that would have saved herself. Instead, she threw herself onto Jaseen, raking her nails across his face as she pulled him off of his cousin. Then when the monster turned back to her, she had negotiated not for herself, but for Kiril's life.

Yes, in the end he had lain on the ground, seven ribs broken, the bones of his sword arm snapped in two, while Jaseen returned to Sabina. The bastard spread her legs and took her like a beast in the field. Kiril tried to move, tried to help her, but the pain was too great and he'd passed out.

Hours later he'd awoken in his room, encased in healing plaster, his mother sobbing silently by his side. Jaseen had been spirited away for the hatching. That was the reason for his behavior, they told him. And as for Sabina, she was gone on an extended holiday. Kiril didn't see her again until after the dragon's birth, after the fight and the murder of his entire family, and long after he had been brought to court to serve as a living example of what happened to those who challenged Dag Racho.

"Slam that fire staff any harder and you'll break it."

Natiya's soft words startled him, and he spun around, one hand already drawing his sword. She didn't even blink as she watched him with large, wary eyes. She waited until he relaxed, slowly returning his sword to its scabbard; then she spoke.

"What were you thinking?"

His first thought was to lie, to make up something she wouldn't question. But before he could bring a convenient excuse to mind, his mouth was already forming an honest answer. "About Jaseen. About dragon magic."

"About why you suddenly hate me."

He frowned at her. "I don't hate you."

"No. Just the dragon magic. But right now, it amounts to the same thing."

"Of course it doesn't." He stopped, turning to look fully at her. "Why would you think that?"

He watched her sigh, felt his body tighten at the delicate rise and fall of her breasts. When she spoke, his attention riveted back to her face and her words.

"Dag Racho is my enemy now. How many people, do you think, have survived as his enemy? How many live for more than a cycle?"

Kiril didn't speak. They both knew the answer was zero. No one lived long once Dag Racho declared them an enemy.

"I know this... lust... is dragon magic. I know it, but I don't care. I want to enjoy myself once before I..." Her voice trailed off, but he completed the thought for her.

"Die? It may not come to that—"

"Before things change," she interrupted. "We will get to the cave soon. You will find your lead on the Queen egg, and then your need for me will end."

Given the way his body hungered, he sincerely doubted his need for her would ever end, but he didn't say that. Indeed, he was too busy damning himself for his own deceit. The danger to her was real, though exaggerated for his benefit. "There are ways to avoid Dag Racho. I could help you."