by Siobhan Muir
Jonarrion opened his eyes and considered the smoke stains on the support beams of the tavern to help the blood drain from his staff. What is wrong with you, boyo? She’s lovely, aye, but human. What had him so captivated?
By the time Mistress Andersen returned with the bread and tea, he had his body under a modicum of control. He focused on his belly hunger and the succulent scents of the bread and tea she carried.
To his surprise, she set down two cups while she balanced a rough teapot and a board with bread.
“Let me help.” He rose just enough to take the teapot, freeing her other hand. She smiled gratefully as she pulled another chair up to the table then drew a knife out of a hidden pocket of her skirt.
“Would you like me to cut you some bread?”
“That’s not necessary, mistress. I can serve myself.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. Jonarrion raised his eyebrows to encourage her.
“Would you mind terribly if I joined you? I have not broken my own fast yet and would like the company.” Her voice trembled a little with uncertainty, but she met his gaze boldly.
“No, Mistress Andersen, you’re more than welcome at my table.” He stood and gestured to her chair, inordinately happy with her company though her nearness teased his lust. “Please, have a seat and break your fast with me.”
She nodded and smiled back at him as she sat, again accidentally brushing his hand with hers as he helped scoot her chair in under the table. Arousal surged, but he returned to his seat as she poured the tea and cut the bread.
“How much for the bread and tea?”
“Och! ’Tis nothing.” She waved her hand. “Besides, I wished to ask if I might beg a favor from you.”
“A favor?” A mixture of wariness and elation cascaded through him. “What kind of favor, love?”
“Well…” She blushed a very becoming rose color from her auburn hairline down to the tops of her perfect breasts. She seemed to struggle for a few moments, but eventually looked up boldly into his eyes and said, “I want you to take my virginity.”
“What?” Horror warred with jubilation within him.
“Please, Master Swift, you must help me.” Isabelle wrapped her hands around his on the table. “In this village there’s a dragon, and the elders think the only way to keep it from our crops and stock is to feed it virgins. But most of the people in this village don’t like me overmuch and would happily send me to the dragon. Please, Master Swift, I don’t wish to die for a village that hates me. I don’t want to die at all, and the only way I can see to keep from dyin’ is to give my virginity to someone. Would you take it?”
Jonarrion’s mind skipped around in happy little circles like a puppy with a new bone. He told it to sit, and tried remind himself about what happened with Colleen O’Rourke’s family, while reveling in the heat of Isabelle’s hands.
“What about your father?”
“Och!” Her face filled with disdain, and she sat back, releasing Jonarrion. He missed her warmth. “He likes me no better than anyone else. He claims I’m not his, and he’s well rid o’ me in the Sacrifice.”
“Has no one come forward for your hand, then?” What was wrong with the Scottish males here? How could they not find Isabelle’s beauty as compelling as he did?
Her disdain only grew on her face. “Their fathers tell them I’m Fae or tainted, and they stay well away. No one wants the ‘Yowling Cat of Lochmore Cott.’”
To his surprise, Jonarrion’s anger stirred. “Who calls you thus?”
Isabelle paused a moment, eyeing him curiously. “Most of the young, unmarried men of my village.”
Rage, just shy of what rose when he faced a demon, swelled in Jonarrion’s chest, and he almost threw back his head to roar. He flattened his mouth into a hard line and held himself very still so he wouldn’t strike out at anything.
“Why do they call you that?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Now she looked nervous and grasped her mug, drinking a little of her tea.
“I don’t ken for sure. I think ’tis because I don’t obey the men quietly like a good girl.” Fire lit in her eyes. “But men are not always right and I won’t be bullied into somethin’ ill thought out. I won’t take a beatin’ because I disagree with some fool. Men may be stronger than women, but I won’t be treated like chattel just because I wear skirts.”
Despite his anger, he wanted to laugh. Damn, this woman fired his blood and made him smile. And the stupid human bastards in the village threw her away? Holy Mother Goddess, they are blinder than earth worms. His anger roiled, but he stuffed behind his eyes and sat back in his chair, considering her suit.
“What will happen to you when it’s discovered you have lost your virginity?” The eager, horny side of himself wailed in despair.
“Och! Nothing.” Isabelle’s lips curled in derisive grimace. “They’ll treat me no different than they do now. No one wants my hand. It won’t be different once I am a taken woman.” Then she looked up at him with her beguiling blue-green eyes. “Please, Master Swift. I beg you. Save me from the dragon and take my virginity. I promise I won’t ask more of you after. Just do this so I may live. Mayhap not peacefully, but at least I’ll live.”
Jonarrion wanted to refuse her request on two counts. One, he doubted the village would be so understanding of a woman willfully losing her virginity for any reason. And two, he was a dragon. He couldn’t save her from one.
But if what she’d told him was true, her virginity made her fair game for a demon offering, the very demon he’d come to kill. If he chose to refuse her request, he could be condemning her to death. Am I not also condemning her to life of an outcast if I take her?
Was death better than being an outcast?
“Please,” she whispered, and her lovely eyes pulled him in. He could no more refuse her than he could walk away from the demon outside the village.
“Very well, Mistress Andersen. I shall grant your request.”
Her face transformed from entreaty to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It made his blood boil. He rose, lifting her out of her chair before he could stop himself. Her eyes widened, but she threw herself into his arms to give him a hug. He held her against his body, but away from his raging arousal, and reveled in the scent of her hair against his cheek.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he remarked dryly, though he enjoyed her gratitude.
“Nay, not yet, but ’tis enough to ease my mind over it.”
She squeezed him. The sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest encouraged his balls to tighten against his body.
Then he heard a sound from the kitchens behind her, and quickly pushed her to arm’s length, sliding into his chair. She gave him a perplexed look as she stood there alone, but before she could ask him anything, the door to the kitchens opened, and a younger woman came into the tap room.
Golden-brown hair draped in a thick tail over her shoulder, and deep-brown eyes set under heavy brows. Her face was sweet and round, reminding him of Joseph the tavern keeper. She stood shorter than Isabelle and had smaller breasts, but she carried herself with the same swaying gait. Her brows raised when she spied them together, but she smiled sweetly and continued behind the bar where she set down clean bar rags.
Isabelle turned to follow his gaze and straightened quickly, her expression smoothing out into a pleasant mask. She looked back at him without the fire he’d seen in her eyes.
“Can I get you more tea, Master Swift?” Isabelle picked up her teacup and slid it into a pocket in her skirt.
“No, thanks.”
“Very well.” Then she paused and mouthed, “Talk more later.”
He nodded, as if in reply to her words, and winked. She raised an eyebrow, but turned and swept out the door past the other woman, who stared after her speculatively. Jonarrion applied himself to his bread as the younger woman approached.
“Did me sister treat y
ou well, Master?”
Ah, so they are daughters of Joseph Andersen.
“Aye.” The blonde did share similarities to Isabelle, particularly in the shape of her eyes and the way she walked. “Why do you ask?”
“Och.” She tightened her lips. “She’s not always the most patient when it comes to serving, but she means well enough.”
“She’s done me no discourtesy.” He wondered why even Isabelle’s sister seemed to think meanly of her.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She offered him a sunny smile and cocked one hip, tipping her head.
Her gaze traversed his physique from bootsoles to braids, and her smile turned coy. She surveyed him rather like a tasty treat, and he wondered if she’d tried to turn his attention away from her sister to gain his favor. Jonarrion’s cock remained quiescent. This woman didn’t have Isabelle’s fire.
“Is there aught else I can bring you?”
“No, thank you. I am fine.”
“Very well. If you need anything, just call for me.”
“And you are?”
“Och! Sarah Andersen, tavern keeper’s daughter.”
“Right.” He smiled at her, and she turned away, but not without a coy look over her shoulder and a twitch of her hips as she walked away. Goddess, protect him from overeager tavern keeper’s daughters.
* * * *
Jonarrion crouched on a rocky outcrop overlooking a bowl-shaped depression and held perfectly still. His mottled-gray cloak made him look much like the rocks around him as he waited. The depression below him was blackened from spell-fire and littered with bones and old carcasses of animals. Dead, twisted spires of trees stabbed into the sky around the open bowl like wraiths holding a vigil over the carrion. Ravens and vultures circled high above his vantage point, waiting for their moment to feast on any leftovers.
The whole place stank of rotting meat, charred hair, and demon-reek. A thin, weak stream trickled into the bowl to build a pond no larger than rain barrel, but the water looked foul, and algae grew along its stagnant edges. The wind blew into Jonarrion’s face, carrying the stench of decay to him, but he bore it to keep his own scent from reaching the creature’s lair. Across the bowl stood a stone pillar, scarred and pitted from the demon’s previous attacks on it. Heavy iron manacles hung from a ring set at the highest point on the pillar, and old, rusty blood stained the lower portion. The pathway into the bowl from the Loch stretched behind the pillar, no more than a beaten track with footprints of the humans brought as sacrifices to the “dragon.”
If this damned creature is a dragon, then I’m a pussy willow.
Beneath his seat, the ground rumbled, and a fresh stench wafted up to assault his nose. Jonarrion hunkered lower and tried to breathe shallowly, neither making a sound nor a motion to attract attention as the demon slithered from a narrow slot in the rock below him.
A sinuous body covered in yellowish-brown scales with a long range of sickly green spikes running from its head to its tail crawled into the open bowl. Two twisted yellow horns thrust upward from the back of the skull, and orange eyes with slit pupils bulged below the brow spikes. A set of short, vestigial hind legs stuck out from the base of the tail, and it used its large, leathery wings with thumb talons to propel itself over the ground. The barbed tail shined iridescent in the dim light, and a cloyingly sweet scent floated up to add to the stench. Something dropped from the edges of the barb, leaving the stone smoking and pitted where it landed.
Acidic poison on this one. Lovely.
The demon wriggled like a big snake over the ground, snapping at anything that moved, and Jonarrion flattened himself against the outcrop. So far it appeared unaware of his presence above it, and he intended to keep it that way as he scanned the creature for weaknesses.
Dragons had been born to kill demons, asked by the Mother Goddess to protect Her world and Her various peoples. Demons often took draconic shapes to fool the humans into seeking out and destroying dragons for them, making their evil conquest of the earth far simpler.
Bloody bastards.
While Jonarrion had the strength to pummel the demon to death, the shorter the time it took to kill it, the better it would be for him in the long run. He’d learned over long, hard practice that each demon had some sort of chink in its armor, but figuring it out before the actual battle assured victory. The miserable louts were tough to kill to begin with, and he didn’t want to take any chances of its survival.
He settled his Fae-made stone cloak around him more tightly, the oddly patterned fabric helping him blend into the rocky cliff, as if part of it. He watched the demon’s progress across the bowl, studying the long, sinuous body intently. The scales along the belly and sides of the creature draped in overlapping layers, each wide, tough, and strong. No way to get anything between them, be it sword or dragon claw. The tail barb had a very small groove dispensing the poison from a tiny opening where the barb joined the tail, but his keen eyesight caught the membrane scale protecting the gap.
The only soft spots on this demon appeared to be around the eyes, which were small and heavily fortified with bony spikes, and around the short legs where the scales dwindled into a flexible mesh. Jonarrion grimaced. Injuring the demon beneath the legs would annoy it, but wouldn’t kill it. There had to be another place soft enough and still be a kill shot.
A traitorous thought slid through his head. Isabelle’s hair and skin will be soft.
Jonarrion’s mind turned back to the request from the tavern keeper’s daughter. She wanted him to take her virginity to save her from the “dragon,” but taking a girl’s virginity had started him on this path five decades earlier. Killing demons was his atonement, and he intended to kill this one. Then the problem vanished. No more demon, no more Virgin sacrifices. She’d remain safe and virginal, and he wouldn’t be hunted down for taking her innocence. So I better focus on the damn demon and figure out how to kill it.
But Isabelle is beautiful, and she asked you to take her virginity, the inner voice whined. You could be feasting on her right now, rather than sitting out here in the cold wind watching a Goddess-forsaken demon.
Jonarrion’s cock hardened with the thought of Isabelle’s hair and hands on his body, and he had to shift his body minutely to relieve the pressure against the stone. He thought of how she’d made him laugh, and the spirit lurking in those blue-green eyes. His thoughts shifted to her sister, and his cockstand died quickly, making him sigh silently with relief. Sarah Andersen was a lovely-looking girl, but she reminded him of the other human women he’d seen over his seven hundred years of life. They were background noise, wallpaper, decoration for the world around him. Isabelle blazed in his memory like a lighthouse lamp, brilliant and overshadowing all others.
A torturous screech jerked his attention to the bowl below him. The demon sharpened its wing talons on the stone pillar, sending sparks cascading around it like a comet’s tail. It repeated its motions until Jonarrion wanted to cover his ears with his hands, but he tried to remain still, suddenly certain the demon waited for movement around its lair. Jonarrion gritted his teeth and endured the shrieking onslaught. When the creature pulled away from the stone, it turned its head back and forth, searching for motion or scent. Jonarrion lay downwind of it, well camouflaged against the rock, but he held his breath anyway.
The demon lifted its head and stared straight at him for a long moment. Jonarrion swallowed hard, and his belly clenched. While he could take the demon in his natural form, his human form was more vulnerable to attack.
Time crawled by like a glacier, patient and grinding. Jonarrion’s shoulders ached with holding his position, but the beast would catch any minute motion. He didn’t dare close his eyes, but he focused his thoughts on the earth’s roots, the great pillars of stone in the caverns of his homeland. Each natural sculpture took centuries to change and grow. He willed his heart to beat with the same slow cadence.
Eventually the demon turned its head to look in another direction, and the change in p
osition offered Jonarrion the chink in its armor. A deep groove between the bones of the lower jaw flexed and moved when the demon swallowed and breathed. The scales had the same small, supple flesh he’d seen around the legs. Jonarrion grimaced.
Oh, aye, of course, that’s the weak spot. It was a very small target and heavily defended by teeth, claws, and, from what Isabelle had said, fire.
Her name triggered more lascivious thoughts, and he ruthlessly smothered a groan. But he couldn’t stop the delirious pleasure shooting through him when he thought of making love to Isabelle. She’d be inexperienced and timid, but he could coax the fire he’d seen in her eyes to the fore. He’d start out slow and sensuous, touching and kissing her until her body simmered, hot and wet for him. Then he’d ease himself into her snug heat and wait until she’d grown accustomed to his cock before breaking her maidenhood.
Guess I’ve accepted the decision to take her virginity after all. He grimaced ruefully, but it didn’t kill the anticipation of teaching Isabelle the joys of bed play. Now I could stop mooning about the lass and just kill the demon so I don’t have to worry about it anymore.
The demon in question snapped its head around again and hissed, slithering to another part of its bowl in a lightning-fast lunge. Jonarrion would have to be respectful of its speed. Its tail shot out across the space and swept the rocks off the top of the outcropping to his left. Jonarrion cursed under his breath, but didn’t move. The demon waited for the cascade of rocks and boulders to stop, its head and eyes frozen as it listened to the sounds dying away.
Jonarrion watched it warily, wondering what it was doing.
It slammed its tail into the face of the overhang above its lair, breaking some of the hard stone like rotted brick no more than a few hand lengths in front of Jonarrion’s nose. Acidic ichor rained down in hissing splatters. Jonarrion kept the cloak tightly wrapped around him as he slid backward from the bowl with another cascade of boulders, pretending to be just another rock dislodged by its ire. Perhaps this demon could sense a powerful enemy near it, even downwind and in his human form. It made the beast even more dangerous. He wouldn’t be able to sneak up too close to it before it knew he’d arrived.
