Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  "Dag Racho's Copper?"

  Kiril didn't answer. She was right; but to tell the truth would be the highest form of treason.

  "But it is the Emperor who is evil," she protested. "Not the dragon."

  Kiril shook his head. "Nay, it is the beast who corrupts. By all accounts, Racho was an honorable man. It is only after he became Dag Racho that his thoughts turned to conquering and hoarding."

  He felt her body stiffen. "Nay," she said, though he caught an echo of doubt in her voice. "Dag Racho has changed the accounts. He would have us believe he is a holy man ruling us with justice and mercy despite the evidence of our own eyes."

  Kiril could not refute her claim. Indeed, he was sure the Emperor had done exactly what she claimed. "Nevertheless, I know the beast corrupts."

  "How?" This time she twisted fully in her seat, turning to directly search his face. "How can you know that?"

  "I have seen it."

  She frowned when he would not say more. And then abruptly he saw understanding light her eyes. "Dag Jaseen. Your cousin."

  He nodded once but did not say more, and in the end she returned to looking out over Mobray's ears. Kiril sighed. This was not the way to gain her trust. And this simmering hunger for sex distracted him too much. Then, to his surprise, she asked another question, a strange anxiety in her voice.

  "So, you can talk to dragons?"

  "What?" He frowned, wondering at her question. "No. Only the bonded can."

  "But you said you can feel things. Because of the dragon blood."

  "Ah," he returned, at last understanding. "If I concentrate, I will be able to feel the dragon egg. Especially if I hold my sword and take my time." Natiya's body tightened. He could feel the anxiety rolling off her, but he did not understand its source. Unless... "Do not be afraid," he soothed. "The power is too weak to call to Dag Racho. He will not find us by my sword. But..."

  She shifted uneasily. "But what?"

  "But I will feel the egg, Natiya. If I am standing in the Queen's clutching cave."

  "By holding your sword?"

  "All I need do is find the nest and stand there. It takes a while, and I must have absolute silence, but eventually I will feel the egg. It is a kind of tug inside. A desire to go one direction, and down that path will lie the egg."

  "You must be in the caves to do this?"

  "Sometimes, if the egg is very close, I can find it just by holding my sword."

  Natiya shook her head, the movement distracted as she obviously fought to understand his words. "You carry your sword all the time. You held it out in my room back in Dabu'ut."

  "I must be concentrating," he said. Then he waited, thinking hard as he studied her. It was already getting dark. Thankfully, they would make the inn soon. But before they arrived, he needed to talk to her about something. And yet, he hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. She was obviously young and inexperienced, and though that added to the excitement, it also complicated what should be a simple matter.

  "Natiya, do you know what happens between a man and a woman?"

  He felt her start of surprise all the way down to his toes. But he felt it more in the part of her still pressed intimately against him, and he was hard put not to groan.

  "I know," she answered, her voice tight, her attitude... insulted?

  "Of course you do," he said, trying to gentle his voice. "You work in a tavern. And I grew up at court, so I suppose you and I had the same early education."

  "I doubt tavern brawls are part of your experience."

  "You'd be surprised what courtiers fight over and how. And you'd no doubt be startled to realize that they often rut in public as well, just as in your tavern's back room. Couples, threesomes, orgies of ten, maybe twelve. By the time I was fourteen, I had seen it all. In fact, some people made it their express mission to make sure I saw much more than I should."

  He could tell he had surprised her. And more than that, she seemed interested, her body relaxing as she allowed herself to turn—not quite to look at him, but so that she could better hear his words.

  "I didn't participate," he continued. "I was fortunate in that I had a protector of sorts. You may remember her. Sabina, the woman who was with me that first night I saw you dance."

  "Your lover."

  Did he imagine that her voice was clipped, even a little angry—or better yet, jealous?

  "No, Sabina has much better taste than the likes of me."

  Natiya arched a single eyebrow at that statement, but she did not comment. Too bad, he thought wryly, because right then he desperately needed some gauge as to how she was reacting to his words. But all she gave him was a view of her profile and the feel of her muscular body taut with some unnamed emotion.

  "Sabina once told me—actually, it was in the context of a wager, but that's not important now—she once said there would come something to tempt me. A woman, probably, who would obsess me as no other. I would think of nothing else, dream of nothing else, live and breathe and scheme only for this woman." He glanced away, remembering the moment and the cold implacability in Bina's voice, as if it were a foregone conclusion that he would fall prey to the same vices so grossly displayed in Dag Racho's court.

  "You don't believe her, do you?" Natiya challenged. "You think her silly for even suggesting it."

  He glanced back at her, realizing belatedly that how he handled the next few moments could very well determine whether he accomplished all he planned, or whether Sabina was right and he was no more than a belly-horned man with no brain beyond that which led his lust. He took a deep breath, unable to change course. "I laughed at her when she said it. I was twenty-eight years old and had long since proven myself an exceptional hunter and a stable, temperate man. A man needs a logical mind and a steady hand to fight as I had. As I do. And I wagered everything I have on that stability."

  He glanced at her, wondering if she understood. But instead of watching the emotions shift in her eyes, he saw the white flesh of her chest peek out as his jacket slid open.

  Abruptly irritated with himself, he turned away, pretending to focus on guiding Mobray. She spoke, interrupting his confused thoughts.

  "But things have changed."

  He sighed. "Things have changed." He looked at her then, not doing anything to hide the lust that continued to course through him. He let the hunger shine through his eyes, and from where his hand rested on her thigh. He slid it higher, pushing closer to where he wanted to be. She clenched, as he knew she would, gripping his hand like a vise, and yet her actions only served to feed his hunger.

  "I want you," he rasped. Then he swallowed, forcibly bringing his thoughts and emotions under control. "I cannot explain it, but the moment I saw you dancing, maybe even before you entered the room, I felt the pull. D'greth, Natiya, I have never felt this... this..."

  "Obsession."

  He flinched, not liking the word but forced to agree. "It has never been like this before. I am consumed by you."

  He saw her swallow in fear, then abruptly she began to twist off her perch, trying to escape the lumbering Mobray. "I will go. We need never see each other again."

  "Wait!" he cried in panic, grabbing her. One hand clamped down on her leg, the other suddenly gripped her shoulder. He was careful not to hurt her, but he would not release her. She needed to understand that.

  "Wait, please," he said again, trying to moderate his tone. "It is not that easy, but neither is it so complicated." He took a deep breath. "I swear by my sword, Natiya, that I will not hurt you or force you, but please just listen to me."

  She did not respond. Like a trapped animal, she held absolutely still, her eyes wide.

  "My feelings have never been this... intense before, but they are not unfamiliar. No man can reach my age without knowing lust, hunger, the need for a woman."

  She shrank from him—not physically, but he felt it nonetheless. She drew into herself, tucking her thoughts and feelings tight inside.

  "Do you know why people co
uple?" He reached forward, touching her face even though he knew she did not want it. He did so anyway, because he wanted her to understand. And because he needed to touch her. "Because it is pleasurable," he said.

  Though her eyes were wide, her body frozen, he began to caress her. First, her face. Then he stroked his fingertip across her lips, pressing slightly inside so that he could feel her moist heat. His belly tightened, but he forced himself to go slowly, to accustom her to his touch as his fingers continued their leisurely stroke. He let his hand trail away from her mouth, slowly stroking across her chin and down the side of her neck. He watched what he did, seeing her pulse leap beneath his fingers, her skin heat to a rosy hue wherever he touched.

  Her eyes were growing heavy-lidded, though he knew she still felt wary. Her body remained too tense to be anything else. So he moved with excruciating care as he once again slipped his fingers beneath the collar of her shirt. He heard her gasp and feared she would draw away. She did not. And so, taking it as a sign that she was ready—or at least not going to fight him—he once again stroked lower. And lower. He moved in a lazy horizontal pattern while her breath became stuttered. His own throat grew dry with desire.

  Thank the Father that his clothing was so loose on her, because—an eternity later—he once again touched the hardened tip of her breast. And when she did not fight him—he doubted she even breathed—he allowed himself to open his fingers, turning his hand until he cupped her in his open palm.

  "I should not do this," she whispered.

  He knew she was not speaking directly to him, but he challenged her nonetheless. "Why not? It feels good, doesn't it? You like this, don't you?"

  She closed her eyes, her face flushed. "Yes," she whispered, as if she could barely admit it to herself.

  "It is merely lust, Natiya—a body's need, neither good nor evil. It simply is. A pleasure like a good meal, nothing more."

  She shook her head: a quick jerk of her chin. "It is too dangerous."

  He leaned forward, touching his lips to hers but no more. "That is where you are wrong. There is no danger in this. The danger is in denying the power of our bodies. The danger is in fighting these feelings so much that it clouds our thinking about other things." He released the reins, this time seeing that they were riding on a straight track with few trees and no people. Mobray would not interrupt them again.

  So he extended his tongue, touching her lips, smiling when he felt her gasp. Then, with a firm stroke he shifted his hand so that the shirt and jacket slipped open, baring her right breast to his view.

  D'greth, it was beautiful. It was full and peaked, rosy in hue and perfectly suited for his kiss. And so he did. Though he strained in the saddle, he leaned down, drawing her nipple into his mouth. She cried out in surprise, but he was prepared and held her fast as he swirled his tongue around her tender flesh.

  He moved too fast. He knew it, but he could not stop himself. Even as he tasted her, rolling his tongue around the hardened pebble of her nipple, he knew he was pushing too hard. And so he was not surprised when she shoved him away.

  "No!" she cried, and she struggled to dismount.

  Once again, he was prepared; he simply held her still, even as he straightened away. "Very well," he said, as if his entire body weren't throbbing with a painful desire. Then he released his grip on her, when it became clear that she was not going to run—when she realized he would not force her. He would never force her.

  She spun away from him, turned her back to him and held herself stiff. He knew she would tire of that position soon, so he waited, guiding Mobray with what little of his mind and body was not completely and totally focused on her.

  He kept silent and relaxed, though it nearly killed him to do so. He took some comfort in the knowledge that he had confused her—that she was intrigued rather than horrified. Intrigued even though she clearly expected him to insist, to take what he wanted despite her protests.

  "I will not force you, Natiya," he said. "I merely wanted you to feel a tiny bit of what you could be experiencing, of what we could share together."

  "I cannot," she replied, though the words sounded hesitant. "I should go away."

  He sighed, but also noted that she made no move to run. "That is what I am trying to tell you, Natiya. You are a fire in my blood," he said honestly—bluntly. "I want you to the point of obsession. I told you, it has never been like this for me. I have never been this possessed by a woman. But even though it is new, I recognize it. I know how to end it."

  She swallowed. "By... taking me?"

  "By enjoying you. Just as one would enjoy a fine meal, Natiya. We can share this passion, enjoy it, relish it. Together. And after it is done—"

  "You will be satiated."

  "We will be full together. And happy." He leaned forward slightly, letting his breath heat her neck. "I'm certain you only know a little of what we can do," he said. "I swear I will make it a delight for both of us."

  She was weakening. Her spine was growing less rigid, her body becoming a bit more slack as she leaned ever so slightly closer to him. "What if I become pregnant?"

  He paused, startled but pleased by her question. "Do you not know how to prevent it? The ladies at court—"

  "I know. Monik showed me."

  He smiled, purposely adopting a casual tone. "We will be stopping soon. There is an inn nearby with a discreet innkeeper." He saw her glance around, as if just now noticing that it neared dusk. "For the rest of the way, why not relax against me? Think about what I have said."

  She frowned, and at first he thought he had failed. But all too soon her spine softened and she leaned back against him. He pressed his lips against her temple, the gesture tender and soothing even as his free hand slid around her belly.

  He felt her stomach muscles quiver, her toned dancer's body betraying every shiver of sensation. Then he dropped his head to her ear, stroking it lightly with his tongue.

  "I want to touch you, Natiya," he said. "You will enjoy it. However, all you need do is tell me to stop and I will. But allow me this, at least, for rescuing you from prison. Let me touch you as we ride to the inn."

  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 eas
ed 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."