by Jade Lee
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.
&nb
sp; 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.
She rose from the water, abrading her skin with harsh strokes of the towel as if she could wipe away the memory of his hands as easily. She could not, of course, and to make matters worse, her mind was so occupied with thoughts of him that she did not realize the change. Indeed, if it had not forced her attention, she would not have seen it.
The egg had grown. Not only grown, it had changed colors and now glowed in the darkness. No longer appearing a small red jewel, the egg was orange in color, and larger. It more than filled her navel, and it pulsed. There was no other word for it. Natiya pressed her hand to the egg. Indeed, it throbbed; she felt a tiny beat against her palm, and a deeper, stronger pulse against her womb.
It was the cord that bound them, extending from the egg, through her navel, deep into her body. That was how she fed the egg and how they were bound together. She knew from her parents' studies that the egg could burrow into a person anywhere—an arm or a leg—and grow from there. All it took was a steady hand to cut the egg out when it was time. She had chosen to press the egg to her navel, and now the cord that bound them throbbed like a heartbeat.
And she'd thought Kiril's touches had created this sensation! Except, she thought, frowning, the egg had not been like this before. Certainly it had been as usual in prison. And then...
The Copper. She knew the Copper's plume of fire had been for the egg—a show of power, perhaps. The egg had taken that fire and used it somehow, used that energy to grow and change. It had absorbed the Copper's—
Adulation.
Natiya froze at the egg's remark. Adulation? She did not even know what the word meant. When had the egg ever known what she did not, said anything that she had not taught it?
The Copper knows me, and offers respect.
How do you know this? Natiya demanded, but the egg did not answer. Not out of petulance, she realized, but out of confusion: It did not know how it knew; it simply did. And that was all it would say on the matter. The Copper's fire had been a show of respect.
I used the fire to grow. The Copper has need of me now.
Now? she asked the egg. What need does it have? What will you do?
The egg did not answer. She did not think it knew. Very well, thought Natiya, staring down at her belly. Things were changing. She'd already known that. The egg was growing a mind of its own. This was not all that startling, she told herself. For many seasons now her egg had talked to her independently, thought on its own, even if it mostly echoed back what she told it. It simply had additional information now. Additional input. That was all to the good, right? New information was useful.
She thought the words, believed them even, but she could not control a tremor of panic along her spine. What was happening to her? Was she being corrupted by the egg like Kiril said?
She dressed quickly, pulled on Kiril's trousers and shirt, doing her best not to relish his scent now mixed with her own. She closed her thoughts to the memories, but in her efforts she became careless. As she drew the shirt closed, the fabric brushed across her nipple, and the resulting fire made her gasp in stunned shock. In her belly, the egg twisted and burned, adding to the hunger, magnifying it in pulsing waves that went straight to her womb.
So, she thought, with a kind of dull understanding, the egg took what she felt, the sensations she enjoyed, and magnified them. The effect had never been this powerful. Or had it? Perhaps there had been other times, other moments when her joy seemed magnified, her pain more deeply felt, even her sorrows and frustrations seeming out of proportion to the event. Could that have been the egg? Possibly, but it was hard to tell. Hard to separate what had been her thoughts and feelings and what had been the egg's. They were one and the same, intertwined. That was what it meant to be dragonborn.
Except, the dragon had not hatched yet.
Her hands froze, Kiril's jacket pulled onto only one shoulder. In one thing the egg had always known more than she. In one answer, it had always remained consistent. When asked, it had always said that it would hatch after the cold season—many weeks from now.
Slowly lowering her hands to cover her belly, Natiya shuddered. How long? she thought to the egg. How long until the hatching?
Soon.
How soon?
Less than two weeks.
Natiya felt her knees hit the floor as her body crumpled. Less than two weeks? But she wasn't prepared. She had no place to hide. No place to complete the hatching and then the bonding.
The Queen's clutching cave.
Natiya nodded. Yes, they were near the caves. She would lead Kiril there, then disappear. She knew them as well as anyone. There were hundreds of caves. She could pick one—any one—and hide until she was ready.
The Queen's clutching cave.
The image came strong and clear. The egg wanted to be in its own cave, the one where it had been laid. But they couldn't go there. That was the one place Kiril wanted, the one place he searched for. And it was the one place that would allow the dragon-hunter to kill them when they were most vulnerable. They couldn't go there.
The Queen's cave. Soon.
Why?
Soon.
Before Natiya could ask more, Kiril walked into the room. She spun around, clutching her clothing tight, panic making her heart pound. Then she remembered, he didn't know; he couldn't know. She was fine, safe for now. He didn't know.
He looked at her warily, bowls of steaming meat stew in his hands. His smile was warm, gentle even, as he extended the food. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I knocked, but you didn't answer. So I came in."
"I-I was thinking." She reached out, taking the bowl from his hands, careful not to touch him. She pulled the food closer, inhaling deeply. It smelled heavenly, and the egg twisted hungrily in her navel. "Thank you," she managed to gasp before eating. She tried to go slowly, but suddenly she was famished. She couldn't devour the stew fast enough, and he watched her with a chagrined expression.
"I'm sorry. I should have realized you were starving."
She shook her head, trembling as she tried to control her need. "I didn't know..." she whispered. Then her bowl was empty, as was her flagon of ale. And still her hands shook with hunger. "Is there more?"
He nodded slowly, pushing his own bowl toward her. "Have this. I'll get another."
She should have refused. She intended to; she was a woman, not an animal—there was no need for her to fall on his food as if she were a starveling. Except, she couldn't stop herself. She took his bowl from him, barely restraining herself from snatching it out of his hand. Meanwhile, he took her empty bowl and left the room, an anxious expression on his face.
It took less than a beat for her to finish his food. And his ale. And the pitcher of water as well. Then she began pacing, the egg twisting in her belly, demanding more. Always more. Food, touch, hunger—all desires merged together until Natiya thought she would go mad.
This was not her. This was not the way she acted. And into this madness came the memory of Kiril's words. The beast corrupts. I have seen it.
Natiya dropped down onto the large bed, feeling her shoulders slump. Could it be possible? Was she changing? Was the dragon corrupting her? She didn't know. She didn't think so, but then again, how would she? She tried to remember herself as a child, before she had decided to carry the egg. She had been so young and so angry. Her only thought had been revenge. How would she know if the egg corrupted her?
She needed more information. She needed to know what Kiril knew—what had happened to his cousin and how, all the details that she'd never considered. But how to get the information without arousing his suspicions?
* * *
Kiril returned to the room with two more bowls of stew, and the innkeeper's daughter's boots clutched under one arm. All
in all, things were going well. Though the news of Dag Radio's strange behavior had not yet reached this sleepy village on the edge of the Clutching Mountains, other news had. His promotion to governor was well known, making interactions with the innkeeper a great deal smoother. Requests—such as for boots—were filled with speed. And bird messages were dispatched without demur. The innkeeper also informed him that the cold season seemed delayed this year. The mountains were easy travel right now.
But best of all, Natiya was ready. After her bath, she would fall easily into his arms, and tonight he had no doubt he would be able to slake his overwhelming hunger for her. He could hardly take the stairs fast enough.
He pushed open the door, saw her curled tightly against the bed's headboard. Her knees were to her chest and panic flared briefly in her pale blue eyes. Anxiety rolled off of her in palpable waves, and then, abruptly, it disappeared. She took a deep breath, obviously struggling to control her fear, and then she straightened, her every move regal.
D'greth, she was impressive. Perhaps when this was all over he would keep her as his lover. With a few lessons and the right clothes, she would be quite an asset at court. He would be an envied man.
Meanwhile, he smiled warmly at her, extending the boots. "The innkeeper's daughter is about your size. Try them on and see if they fit."
She nodded and took the boots. He watched like a lovesick boy while her dainty feet slipped inside, his body clenching with an absurd desire. How ridiculous that he would envy a pair of boots for being so close to her, but he had been mad for some time—even ready to take her hours ago on his mount! The sight of her slim white ankle slipping inside the dark fur made his mind spin with fantasies.
"Thank you," she said softly. "You have been most kind." Even her voice was enticing, all the more so because it sounded as if she hovered on the edge of control.
Kiril grinned, allowing her to understand some of his thoughts. "Perhaps we can find a different way for you to thank me."
