Slayer: An Enchanted Story

by D. L. Snow

  To his great surprise and pleasure, Brea was inside the tent when Cahill returned, shoveling food into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in a week. The sight brought a faint smile to his face, and then Cahill frowned. “Ewph! It even smells like dragon in here.”

  “Oh!” Brea turned and waved from her place at the table. “Sorry,” she said after swallowing a huge mouthful. “That’s probably me.” She sniffed at her clothes. “Dragon is so hard to get out of wool.” From the sleeve of her tunic she withdrew three glimmering scales and tossed them onto the table.

  Cahill dropped his sword and gingerly nudged the scales apart. Dragon scales were as individual as the beasts themselves. It was not hard to tell these scales came from three separate dragons—one ruby red, the other opalesque and the third glittered like a sapphire. As Cahill well knew, the window for dislodging a scale from a dragon was small indeed; for dragon scales only loosened in death and must be pulled before the monster burst into flames. Cahill looked at Brea with a new and sudden respect. She’d told him she was the best slayer, but he’d never fully believed her. Until now.

  He collapsed onto the stool beside her. “Three?” Cahill said with false nonchalance. “Only three?” He chuckled, “Princess, you’re slipping.”

  Brea smiled in pleasure and then pointed at her injured leg propped on some cushions under the table. “I know. I’m not quite up to standard. But if you could spare someone, I could use some help tomorrow.”

  “I know just the man.”

  Cahill hung from the tree, like Brea had taught him, trying to regulate his breathing, but finding it difficult with a glob of dragon shit sliding down his left cheek. This was soon forgotten, however, when the thundering hooves of an approaching horse alerted him to action. It was Brea riding Elrond hard, heading straight for him with a fire-breather right on her tail.

  “Attack from above,” Brea had said. “Dragons never look up.”

  Brea flew by, then Cahill let go of the branch, landing squarely straddling the beast’s neck. With one swift movement, he pulled his sword, lifted it high and drove it to the hilt through the black slit in the dragon’s yellow eye.

  “Think of it as a bulls-eye,” Brea had instructed.

  Sure enough, death came instantly. The dragon’s wings stretched taut in its final convulsion and the stinking body glided gently to the ground where Cahill was able to easily slide off. He jogged to join Brea and Elrond a safe distance away before the body went up in flames. “I can’t believe it!” he crowed. “It’s so easy.”

  Brea narrowed her eyes and scoffed, “Easy?”

  “I mean efficient,” Cahill said and grinned. “There’s no hacking at a writhing neck covered in almost impenetrable scales. No fire, no mess.” He raised his hand to Brea to pull her down from the horse and she accepted the help without hesitation. “We make quite a team.”

  She nodded, but her face was turned to the surrounding countryside where only blackened patches on the ground indicated the number of dragons that died that day. “That’s it,” Brea sighed. “We did it. We killed them all.”

  In a voice filled with wonder and dread, Cahill said, “Maybe not all. What the hell is that?”

  Brea followed his outstretched arm and finger and then muttered, “Fuck a duck.”

  Cahill swung his head to look at her in surprise, then turned his attention back to the monster that glided overhead.

  “That, my prince, is the beast that gave me this.” Cahill glanced back at Brea and to where she was pointing down at her leggings which were stained where her old wound had reopened and oozed blood.

  “You fought that thing?” he said with admiration.

  Brea nodded grimly. “As you can see, it won.”

  Slowly Cahill shook his head back and forth. “You’re still here,” he said. “I call that a draw.”

  The enormous dragon circled high overhead, squawking shrilly so that both Cahill and Brea had to cover their ears. Then it swooped, flying low over the land, its head swaying back and forth as if looking for something, or someone. Finally the dragon rose and flew off, out of sight.

  “We’ll save that one for another day,” Cahill said as he reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  Brea settled back against the copper tub, her knees drawn to her chest, reveling in the soothing warmth of the water. She’d washed first in a nearby stream, but only lye soap would get the dragon smell out of her hair. As for her clothes, the cook had confiscated them in order to boil them in vinegar in hopes of removing the stink. After another dunk of her head beneath the water, Brea rose, dripping, and used a blanket to dry herself. Cahill had given her one of his spare shirts to wear and Brea laughed at herself as she cinched the garment around her waist with a strip of leather. It was long enough to be a dress. Not a proper dress, but a nightdress at least, and that’s all she needed it for. Her clothes would be dry enough by morning when the company rode out.

  Peeking out through the tent flap, Brea called to Cahill’s valet to remove the washtub and bring in some food. She tucked a fur around her shoulders for decency’s sake, then Brea sat at the table and waited for the food and Cahill to arrive. He came in moments later, smelling clean and masculine. Brea kept her lashes lowered as a sudden shyness descended over her.

  They ate in relative silence, making mundane remarks about the flavor of this dish and that. Finally Cahill cleared his throat and said, “I cannot go on like this. I must make my intentions known.”

  Slowly Brea looked up from her food. The firelight flickered in Cahill’s dark eyes, making him appear more sinister than regal.

  “Breanna, I beg you. No, I beseech you to consent to be my wife.”

  Though Brea knew it was coming, had known his intentions all along, her answer became lodged in her throat. She licked her suddenly dry lips and said, “I’m sorry, Cahill. I can’t.”

  He didn’t move for a long time. Finally he spoke. “Why?”

  All her old resentments, her old prejudices about marriage reared their ugly heads in her mind. “I know how these things work. The minute I marry you, I belong to you. I give up everything.”

  “What do you give up?” Cahill argued. “Marry me and you gain a title and a kingdom.”

  “Both of which I already have,” Brea countered.

  “Bah!” Cahill fumed. “You have nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Brea rose in anger. “I have everything I need, Prince.” She limped purposefully around to the other side of the table, using the fact that he was still seated to her advantage. “I don’t need your land, I don’t need your title.” With each item she listed, she poked him in the shoulder. “I don’t need a stinking husband to make demands of me once he thinks he owns me.”

  “What do you mean, make demands?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not one of your sheltered young princesses who has no idea of the filthy rutting tendencies of men. I know what goes on behind closed doors.”

  Cahill’s expression changed. First understanding, then shock, and then anger. “You’re not a virgin,” he said in a low voice. “Someone abused you.”

  Brea laughed. “No, I’m a virgin.” She pulled her dagger out from her leather belt and twisted it between her hands. “I wouldn’t let a stinking, breeding male near enough to abuse me.”

  Cahill frowned. “Then what do you know of things that take place ‘behind closed doors’?”

  “You may find this shocking, Your Highness, but commoners rut regardless of whether doors are open or closed. In fact doors have very little to do with it. Stables, tavern floors, up against walls.” Brea shivered with revulsion. “Beastly copulations. No thank you.”

  “Ah,” Cahill said. “A tavern education.” He stood, and Brea found herself no longer at an advantage. “I’m afraid, Princess, your education may be lacking. What you have witnessed is only a very limited version of the act in question.”

  “I’d wager I know more than enough.”

&n
bsp; “A wager.” The prince smiled as he lifted her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at him. “Now that’s a wager I’d be willing to take.”

  Brea scowled, but Cahill tightened his grip on her chin, holding her in place. “What if I was to convince you otherwise, Princess? What if I was to prove there was more to this carnal act than you are aware and what if I was to wager that by the end of it, you will be begging me to take you to our marriage bed?”

  Still holding her dagger, Brea pressed the tip into the juncture of his rib cage. With satisfaction she watched his eyes widen at the sharp pain of it. “I will make no such wager.”

  Cahill released her face and stepped back, out of the reach of her dagger’s lethal point. “Because you know you’ll lose.”

  “Ha!”

  “Remind me, Brea, who was tugging at the draw to my breeches the other day. I might be mistaken, but I’m almost certain it was you.”

  “You swine!”

  “Yes. A talking swine, at that. Come on, Brea. Stop fighting it.” His hand moved so swiftly she wasn’t able to get away in time. He grasped her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the dagger. Then he pulled Brea to the bed of furs and pushed her down. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

  “I don’t want you,” she snapped. And she didn’t. Not logically. But apparently her hands did because they wound around Cahill’s neck and pulled him down onto the furs beside her.

  Chapter Eight

  Cahill kissed Brea using every ounce of control he could muster. His tongue flicked gently over hers, his lips moved with a forced laziness that was nearly killing him. But she’d encouraged him, if somewhat unwittingly, and he didn’t want to scare her off. He paused from his kiss to regard her beneath heavy lids. There was no mistaking the raw desire in her grey eyes, no mistaking the attraction she felt as her body shuddered beneath his hands. “Tell me to stop, Brea. Tell me now,” he urged. “Or I won’t be able to.”

  Brea’s lips parted as if she was about to say it, about to tell him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she licked her lips as her breath caught in her throat.

  “Merciful gods in heaven.” Cahill groaned as he leaned down into her and kissed her with more restraint than he thought he could bear. He had to have her. He had to hear her moan. It was absolutely essential that he bring this combative woman to her knees. Because she already had him on his knees.

  Cahill was certain he had died and gone to heaven when, in a breathy voice, Brea moaned, “Please, Cahill. Please don’t stop.”

  As if stopping was even a possibility.

  He groaned as he pulled her close and nuzzled the side of her neck. “I have never met a woman like you,” he whispered into her hair as he deftly untied the sash at her waist. He slid it out from beneath her and then tugged at her shirt until he had it pulled up and over her head. She laid there beneath him, her grey eyes wide with longing and wonder. He kissed her lips and then paused a moment to take in her glorious body.

  She was so much slimmer than other women he’d seen. Her flesh was not rounded with dimpled plumpness, but firm with planes that came from hard work and muscle. Her breasts, though small, were full and ripe, tipped with tiny rosebud nipples that cried out for his kisses. “Yes,” he sighed as he gave in to those pretty demands. He kissed her breast then flicked her nipple with his tongue, well aware of how his kisses were affecting Brea’s breathing. “I’ve never desired a woman as I desire you.” With reverence, he ran his hands gently down the length of her torso. “So strong,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her shoulder. “So beautiful.” He cupped her breast and shifted his body so that he could have better access to her other nipple, for he desperately needed to taste her again, to suck and lick and devour her deliciousness.

  Brea sighed and held his head to her chest. His tongue danced across her hardened bud before he sucked her into his mouth again. But his right hand continued downward to her thighs, and Cahill kissed the valley between her breasts before he raised his head so he could watch his hand trace the vicious scar on her leg. “So brave.”

  “Cahill?”

  “Yes, my love?” So enthralled was he by his exploration of her extraordinary physique, he did not hear the quavering in her voice.

  “Cahill, I can’t do this.”

  How he wanted to ignore her. His hand was even then easing her legs apart. Stopping now was tantamount to the worst torture he could imagine. But he stopped nonetheless. He closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

  “Why are you stopping?” Brea asked with a voice quavering even more than his.

  “You asked me to. It’s hard, Brea, to—”

  “No,” she said as she shook her head from side to side., She grabbed his hand and slid it back into place between her legs. It was then he noticed that her little bottom rocked back and forth, grinding into the furs beneath her. “What I mean is, I can’t do it. I can’t just lie here, like those other women. The ones in the taverns.” She bit her lip and wiggled some more. “I’m going crazy. I need to do something.”

  It took a moment for Cahill to understand what Brea was talking about. Then he smiled, and his hand happily went back to work between her legs. “You don’t have to just lie there, my love.”

  Her brows furrowed as her breath came faster. “Then tell me what to do.”

  “Why don’t you start by undressing me?”

  A smile of delight lit up her face as she flew to her knees. Cahill wondered if she even realized the manner in which she pressed her heels into that tender part of her rump as she rocked back and forth and side to side. But then he totally forgot that line of thinking as her hands tore at his shirt. Literally tore it. She used her teeth to assist in the shredding of his clothes, and Cahill didn’t think he’d ever been more aroused.

  However, once the remains of his shirt slid from his chest, Brea’s inquisitive hands would have brought him to his knees were he not already there. “You’re so hard,” she said as her palms spanned his chest. Then she leaned down and kissed him, mimicking his movements, her tongue flicking here and there, just as his had. Cahill clutched her head to his chest and groaned, gritting his teeth, afraid he would spill his seed upon the furs instead of depositing his essence inside Brea’s glorious body.

  “If you think that’s hard, woman, you should reach lower.”

  She was already one step ahead of him. Her fingers fumbled at the tie, and Cahill roughly moved her hands away to take care of it himself. He stood in order to remove his breeches and boots and chuckled low in his throat at the wide-eyed look Brea had on her face as she stared at his erection.

  If she licked her lips one more time, Cahill would not be able to control himself. Thank the heavens she didn’t. Instead she whispered, “Cahill, has anyone ever told you it resembles a decapitated dragon?”

  Cahill laughed. “No! And I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “May I?” She reached tentatively toward him, and Cahill nodded, his jaw clenched as he held his breath. Her trembling fingers stroked the length of him, circling and cupping until Cahill was quite certain he was going to die or burst or both.

  He grabbed her hand and wrenched it from his throbbing cock. “My turn.” Gently he pushed Brea onto her back and then, gripping an ankle in each hand, pulled her legs apart, bending them gently at the knees. “If you need to do something, Princess, you may touch yourself, or run your hands through my hair.” He kissed the inside of her knee. “Groaning is good. Screaming my name, even better.”

  He gently ran his hands up her thighs and parted her silky curls with his thumbs. Brea let go a string of curses, using words even Cahill was unfamiliar with. “That works,” he muttered as he kissed higher, one leg and then the next, gently pressing kisses here and there, but all the while holding her writhing legs firmly apart.

  “What are you…oh!” Brea cried as he blew cool air onto her moist opening.

  He touched her clit, and she bucked beneath his hands. “Oh, Princess,” he gro
aned. Then he lowered himself so that he could suck her salty juice down his throat. He nipped at her clit and stroked her with his tongue as Brea ground her pelvis into his face. But her hands were in his hair tugging him away. He lifted his head and smiled at the wild look in her eyes.

  “Cahill!” she panted. “You can’t do that. You have to stop.”

  “Why? Don’t you like it?” He ducked down for another kiss, and Brea cried out, though her hands tightened in his hair.

  “That can’t be…proper.”

  He plunged his tongue inside of her. In and out, in and out while her hips rocked back and forth. “Proper, Princess?” Cahill asked as he lifted his head for just a moment, “There is nothing proper about the things I want to do to you.”

  “…oh!”

  Finally, Cahill rose from his place between her legs and crawled up to meet her. Her hair lay disheveled about her face. Her eyes luminous with need. Her lips parted and swollen. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He lowered his face to kiss her, and at first she kept her mouth closed, but his tongue was too insistent and once she opened her mouth, she went wild, sucking her scent from his lips and tongue. With a groan, Cahill pulled away. Stroking her face, he whispered, “You know, my dear. Some women enjoy returning the favor.”

  “You mean…?”

  Cahill nodded, then closed his eyes and grunted softly as images of Brea taking him into her mouth nearly set him off. She reached down between his legs, and Cahill rolled swiftly away.

  “May I try it?” she asked, her voice husky with desire.

  “Next time, my love,” Cahill said as he rolled back on top of her, grasping her naughty hands and holding them above her head. “I will not be able to control myself now if you do.”