by Trisha Telep
“I have to be,” she answered.
As they spoke, his embrace changed. He had been holding her in a punishing grip. Now his touch turned gentle as he stroked his hands up and down her back. He took her by the shoulders, rocking her breast against the rough fabric of his shirt, making her nipples ache.
Overcome, Morgan pressed her face to his shoulder. One of his hands found her chin and tipped it up so that his lips could come down on hers. Earlier, his mouth had sent powerful sensations through her body, but that was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He moved his lips against hers, brushing, sliding, settling.
“Oh!”
She felt him smile as his tongue slipped into her mouth, playing with the line of her teeth and the sensitive tissue on the inside of her lips.
While she was absorbing the sensations, he picked her up in his arms again and carried her further back into his dwelling, through a massive door, which he shut behind them, closing them into a bedroom lit by more of his candelabra. In the flickering light, he set her down beside a wide bed, then pulled her gown and the gold chain over her head and dropped them on the floor so that she stood naked in front of him.
When he pulled off his shirt, her breath caught. His chest was magnificent, well muscled and smooth.
As she watched, he worked the buckle at the top of his pants. When it was opened, he pulled his trousers down and stepped out of them. Her gaze settled on his male part. In all her 27 years, she had never been alone in a room with a man, except her father and her brother. And certainly not with a naked one. She forced herself not to gasp as she took in the size of him. She kept her head bent, unable to look him in the eye and show him her fear.
And because she couldn’t simply stand there, she stepped forwards and clasped her arms around his shoulders.
He made a rough sound as his arms came up to cradle her body against his.
Electricity arched between them. But his words tore at her.
“You should be afraid of me. Why are you not afraid?”
“I want to be your lover,” she managed to say.
“I haven’t done this . . . in a long time. Perhaps I’ll be too rough. Perhaps I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
When he started to speak again, she brought her mouth back to his, moving her lips the way he had done to her, then playing with the seam and sliding her tongue into his mouth.
He made a surprised sound as she imitated what he had taught her. He stroked his hand down her body, then cupped her bottom and pulled her against the hard shaft rising between them.
When she swayed on her feet, he eased her onto the bed and came down beside her. Sighing deeply, he rolled her on to her side. Looking into her eyes, he slid his hands over her body, stroking her arms, her neck, her breasts. When she arched into the caress, he bent to take one distended nipple into his mouth, sucking strongly, drawing on her.
Letting the hot, needy feeling envelop her, she raised her hand, touching his body, awed to be playing her fingers over his broad chest. Leaning forwards, she circled one flat nipple with her tongue, pleased at the way it beaded in response.
His indrawn breath made her feel powerful.
In the next moment, he reached down to touch here where no one else had ever dared touch, his fingers tangling in the triangle of blonde hair at the top of her legs before slipping lower, into her moist folds. The sensation made her gasp.
She gasped again as his finger dipped inside her and circled, then moved all the way up to the place where her greatest sensation resided.
“I want . . .” she gasped.
“What?”
She felt her face heat. “I don’t know how to say it.”
He watched her face. “But you’ve felt sexual climax?”
“What is it?”
“The ultimate pleasure for a woman. And for a man.”
Was that the word for it? The secret, forbidden pleasure. She couldn’t meet his eyes as he rolled her on to her back and continued to stroke her, angling his hand so that he could press against the throbbing place of greatest sensation as his finger stroked the inside of her.
She felt her tension climbing, climbing.
“Let me make you come,” he whispered, then bent to tease her breasts with his mouth again.
She felt the explosion gathering inside her.
“Garon.” She called out his name in wonder as waves of pleasure vibrated through – more pleasure than she had ever known in her own, lonely bed.
And as the waves began to recede, he covered her body with his and plunged inside her. There was a moment of pain. But she was so relaxed that she hardly noticed.
He bent his mouth to her neck, and she felt another small pain as sharp teeth pierced her flesh. His mouth sucked at her as he stroked in and out of her, his being vibrating with tension. Then she felt him go rigid, felt him suck more strongly as his body jerked and went stiff.
She lay breathing hard, overwhelmed by what they had just done. He eased off her and rolled on to his back. She knew very little of what happened between men and women, but she suspected that what they had done had been extraordinary.
When she turned her head, she saw her blood on his mouth. Maybe that should have horrified her, but she only felt limp and relaxed.
She had come here to save her people, but they had receded into the background as he fulfilled a longing she didn’t know existed within her. She wanted to tell him what making love with him had meant to her, but was afraid to reveal too much.
So she only said, “You gave me great pleasure.”
“And I took your blood.”
“I gave it to you,” she answered.
He sat up and looked down at her. “You knew I drank blood?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I read the old stories. They said the cuts on my feet would tempt you.”
“You read?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Who taught you?”
“I taught myself.”
“Well if you read about me, you know I don’t just drink blood. I live on it.”
She nodded, then asked in a small voice, “Where do you get enough to sustain you?”
“I have a herd of deer that feed me. They come when I call them. They are my friends.”
His friends. She tried to imagine how lonely he must be. Emotions welled inside her. She felt something for this man that she had never felt before and didn’t understand now. She only knew that her heart seemed to swell inside her chest.
“Human blood tastes better,” he said, then looked away. “So I must stay away from the communities of men. If I take too much from one person, I kill him. Or her.”
“You didn’t kill me.”
“I could have.”
“I think you’ve learned control.”
“I frighten humans. With good reason. You were very brave or very foolish to come here,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “Call it what you want, but I feel better than I ever have in my life.”
Ignoring her words, he added. “Your journey to this place should be rewarded. You said your people needed my help.”
“The Digons have laid siege to my father’s castle. They are barbarians. They will kill our men and rape our women and make them slaves. And they will take the kingdom for their own.”
“And you think I can save your people?”
“Yes.”
He stood up, strode to the door of his bedroom and pushed it open. From the mouth of the cave, she saw the dawn coming.
“I must sleep,” he said.
“But . . .”
“We will talk when I wake up. But first, I will get you food and drink.” He walked into the front room and vanished.
She got up and pulled on her gown and the gold chain, then hurried to the place where he had been. While she was trying to work out where he had gone, he reappeared, holding a tray of meat, fruit, cheese and bread and a crystal goblet of cold water.
/> Her eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
“From the other side of the mountain.”
“So quickly?”
“Yes.”
He walked back towards the bedroom. “I will sleep until the sun is low in the sky. You are welcome to stay here. Or not.”
He swept his hand towards one of the rugs and she saw the sandals she had taken off on the other side of the sharp rocks. He had brought them to her, so she could walk back the way she had come. Before she could tell him she had no intention of running away, he closed the stout door between them, leaving her alone in the beautiful room.
She ate some of the food and drank from the goblet, then wandered around, taking in the details of the room. It was wonderful, with more treasures than she could ever have imagined. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies sparkled in a silver bowl. A large crystal globe had images of the moon and stars embedded inside it. There were tables of what looked like scientific instruments. Some, like a telescope, she recognized; others were a complete mystery to her. And beside them were quill pens, inkwells and stacks of notebooks where he had written in a language she could not read.
Enthralled by everything she saw, she drifted around the room, inspecting his treasures. Tables held shells from the sea, crystals, bottles of coloured glass, boxes carved of stone and wood, and cunning images of animals, some real and some from stories. She found a beautifully carved dragon, a unicorn and a bear that was completely white.
She left the best for last. On the shelves was a treasure trove of books and ancient scrolls, beautifully illuminated. She opened books on history, philosophy, science, geography and language: all the subjects she had longed to study when she had been forced to join the other women of the castle learning weaving, embroidery and how to sew clothing, because that was all females were good for. That and marriage and having babies.
Now she attacked the riches of the library, pulling out volumes that interested her and carefully putting them back before she picked up another,
She could stay here for a thousand years, she thought, reading. And learning from the man who lived in this remote place. He was no longer a monster to her. He was like no one she had ever met – not her parents or her brother or the people of Balacord, who spent their lives working for the good of her father’s household. She saw that he had curiosity and the leisure time to learn all the disciplines of the world. And that he had travelled from this place and brought wonderful things back to enrich his life. Yet he must be lonely living here alone.
Time sped by. When the door to the bedroom opened, she blinked. Garon stepped out. He was dressed in black, as she had first seen him.
“You’re still here.”
“Of course.”
“I must eat.”
She stiffened, wondering if he was going to take her blood again, but he walked past her, out into the night, and she realized he was going to his deer herd. A pang of guilt assaulted her. She had lost herself in his books and her people were still in mortal danger.
When Garon returned, she went to him.
“Will you help me now?”
“It might not come out the way you expect.”
“Why not?”
“You must see that for yourself.”
“How?” she asked.
“You will come with me.”
There was no other choice. “All right,” she answered immediately.
“You might yet lose your nerve.”
“I hope not.”
“You said you were from Balacord. I know the place.” He tipped his head to the side and looked at her. “What do you know of the legends?”
“That when the people needed a boon from you, they brought a virgin sacrifice to your mountain.”
Garon considered her answer. “Those women were brought here against their will. You came on your own.”
“I had to.”
“Few people would do it.”
He sounded so grave. And she heard herself ask, “What did you do with them? The virgins.”
“I took them to the other side of the mountain, where I bought them husbands.”
She stared at him. “I thought . . .”
“What?”
“That you ravished them and . . .”
“Killed them?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I made love with them. But I do not kill for pleasure. I do not kill the deer. There are enough of them to feed me without killing.”
“But you will kill the barbarians?”
Garon was silent for a long time, and she felt her heart pounding as she waited for his answer. “Yes. For you. Because you had the will and the courage to ask.”
“Then we must hurry. They have laid siege to the castle. The people cannot hold out for much longer.”
“We will make you ready to leave.”
Morgan felt a pang. She didn’t want this time with him to end. He had listened to her, really listened. And he had shown her more regard in a few hours than she had ever experienced in her whole life. She felt the sadness of that and struggled to push it away. She had work to do, and she must not let her own needs distract her.
He walked further back into the cave and returned with a shirt and pants and a set of leather armour.
“Put this on.”
“Why?”
“Because you are going into battle.”
Morgan swallowed and turned her back so she could take off the gown and pull on the shirt and pants. Then she picked up the top part of the armour, turning it in her hands. “I don’t know how to fit it to me.”
“I’ll help you.” He slipped the upper piece over her head and hooked it together under her arms. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”
She did, closing her eyes as she clung to his strong body, wishing they were back in bed together. And when he fitted the leg guards over her thighs, she fought a surge of heat.
Maybe he felt it too, because she heard his breath catch.
“How did you find armour that fits a woman?” she asked, trying to distract herself.
“Magic,” he said. His voice thick.
He picked up the helmet from the bed and fixed it on her head, carefully tucking her hair out of sight. Then he pulled back a drapery and turned her around so that she could see herself in a long mirror.
She stared at the warrior confronting her. “I look . . . fierce.”
“We’ll see if your heart matches your appearance. Come outside.”
She followed him out of the bedroom, through the room with the wonderful books and then into the night. The moon was so bright that the rock outcroppings cast shadows.
“Stay there while I change,” he said.
“To what?”
He stepped back, a few feet from her. Then began to grow and transform. She gasped as scales covered his body. His neck and head elongated. His arms turned into wings and his feet became talons. In seconds a terrifying dragon stood before her, towering twenty feet in the air.
In the moonlight, he arched his neck, lifted his head and roared. Along with the mighty sound, a stream of fire shot out from his mouth.
If he was trying to scare her again, he had succeeded. But she managed to stand her ground. She had come too far to run form him now. He looked dangerous. No, he was dangerous. But not to her. She knew he would never hurt her. Not on purpose.
His voice roared out of him, as he crouched low to the ground. “Climb on my back. Use my scales to pull yourself up.”
Teeth clenched, she climbed onto the dragon’s massive back, straddling him like a great horse. There was a kind of saddle for her to sit on and his shoulder blades stuck up like two handles. It seemed that he had shaped his back so she could ride easily and hang on. She grabbed on with her two hands.
“Are you ready?” he boomed.
“Yes,” she answered, wondering if it was true.
Garon leapt into the air, his great wings flapping as he gained altitude, carrying her up and up, high above
the forest and into the black velvet night where she thought she might touch the stars.
She had envied the freedom of birds that could fly away to a new place any time they wanted. Now she looked down in wonder, awed by the moon-silvered view below her.
It was cold. She was glad of the armour’s protection but still the wind stung her face as they flew high above the forest.
His strong wings beat the air, eating up the distance. She had taken three days to walk to his mountain lair. The moon had barely moved in the sky when she saw the castle and the barbarians camped around it.
“Press yourself down and hold on,” the dragon boomed as he dived towards the invaders. She flattened herself against his back and dug her fingers into his shoulder blades as he hurtled downwards.
Below on the plains around the castle, she heard men shouting and pointing towards them. Soldiers in the castle were shouting and pointing too. Some of the barbarians aimed their bows into the air. Arrows flew past Morgan only to bounce off the dragon’s scales.
Garon plunged downwards towards the Digons. When he was almost on them, fire shot from his mouth, enveloping the camp below. Tents went up in flames. Men’s clothing caught fire, and they ran screaming towards the river. Their cries and the smell of their burning flesh rose into the air.
Morgan turned her head away. She didn’t want to see the death of these men, but she knew what they would have done to her people if they had won. So she hung on as the dragon wheeled and dived, scorching the men and the land around the castle.
The barbarians left standing scattered, running for their lives. The dragon hunted them down – picking them off one by one. When he was finished, he landed on the field, in the middle of the destruction.
Morgan looked towards the castle. Men inside cranked the gears that lowered the great drawbridge and raised the gate. She expected her father to come out with cries of thanks.
Instead, archers rushed through the opening, firing at the dragon as they charged him.
Morgan screamed.
Garon bellowed in anger. Whipping his head from side to side, he sprayed the soldiers with fire, then rose into the air with his rider still clinging to his back.
Arrows followed them upwards but fell back to earth.
Morgan pressed her face to the dragon’s back, hot tears stinging her eyes. He had saved her father’s kingdom and this was his reward. Reaching for the chain around her neck, she pulled it over her head and flung it into the air, watching it plummet towards the ground. The soldiers would find it. And maybe Nedda would understand that she had not died after all. That she was all right.
