Muir, Siobhan - Not a Dragon's Standard Virgin (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Siobhan Muir

  Jonarrion sighed in the silence behind him, and the tears overflowed his lids. He turned his head away and swiped at them, smearing more liquid across his cheek as he fought the pain her rejection and disbelief caused. He opened his palm and watched the wounds his claws had created slowly close. I wish my heart could heal so easily.

  “I’m sorry, Jon,” Isabelle said quietly. “I see you believe all you say.”

  “Yes,” he agreed heavily.

  “But I still can’t believe you’re a dragon.”

  “I know.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more come morning. Just understand that I’ve never told anyone else what I’ve told you tonight. I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”

  With that, he took a step toward the rainy night.

  “Wait, Jon!” He paused and looked back at her, feeling old and empty. She blanched at his hard stare. “I…Where are you going?”

  “Hunting.”

  Jonarrion ducked out into the rain and ran, fleeing the glorious female and her determined ignorance. He threw back his head and welcomed the stinging cold, wishing it would rinse away the pain and despair as easily as it did the clinging mud.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isabelle woke feeling cold, alone, and stiff. Her little fire had gone out during the night, and even though she’d tossed and turned, she hadn’t had the energy to try to keep it going. She sat up, more to get her cold body off the stone than for any need to start her day. The lack of chores felt strange, but in light of her determination to strike out on her own, nothing seemed right. Particularly her relationship with Jon.

  Isabelle scanned the cave for her companion. Dull morning light gilded the floor, but no warmth came from the weak sun straining through the heavy overcast. Jon’s form crouched beside the cave mouth, but he made no noise as he worked at rebuilding the fire. So I’m not precisely alone, but I may as well be in the village for all I have his regard.

  His broad shoulders appeared slumped in the deep shadows of the cave, and a cold feeling settled into her belly. Isabelle hadn’t wished to hurt him, especially after the sweet loving he’d given her, but his words had been too incredible to believe. The creature plaguing the village was a demon, and he, the charming male human, was actually a dragon in disguise.

  ’Tis impossible! He can’t be a dragon.

  Why is it impossible? another voice argued. If you believe in the Fae and that your mum was seduced by such a being, and there is a dragon-like creature destroying the village, why is believing Jon is a dragon so difficult?

  Isabelle just wanted to throw her hands in the air and forget the whole thing. Why was everything so complicated now that she’d given away her virginity and left the village? It should’ve been simple from then on.

  She froze at the thought. She’d given away her virginity to a dragon.

  Oh, now you believe he’s a dragon! What happened to “I’d rather be a live harlot than a dead virgin?” What happened to your backbone?

  I was supposed to give it to a man, not a great hulking beast.

  That beast is the best man about, and he certainly loved you well.

  She couldn’t keep from groaning with frustrated resignation, and she dropped her head on her drawn-up knees. She’d given her virginity to a dragon!

  If he really is a dragon, and not some swindler who tells tales to tup innocent virgins in remote villages.

  Och! You were the one to ask him to take your innocence.

  Bloody hell.

  She thought back to the conversation they’d had the night before, and she knew he believed everything he said to her. She’d seen it in his eyes and the tension lining his body as he stepped out into the murky dark hadn’t been feigned. But why would a dragon take a disguise? Surely such powerful creatures didn’t need to hide among the humans.

  The scent of meat cooking over a fire interrupted her thoughts and reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breaking her fast the day before. An inner voice whined she preferred porridge and bread for breakfast, not meat.

  Oh, aye, and while I’m dreaming, perhaps I could live in a palace and ride a unicorn.

  You rode a dragon, the same voice quipped.

  Shut it.

  Isabelle turned her gaze toward Jon and gauged his mood by his actions. He carefully turned two rabbits over the flames while his face remained impassive. Though his eyes focused on the meat, she sensed his anger and frustration like a great stone wall between them, and chagrin ate at her.

  She hadn’t meant to laugh at him, but what he’d claimed was still too fantastic for her to swallow. Jon’s body language broadcasted a lack of interest in conversation, but the hard, cold silence filling the cave pressed at her until she wanted to scream. Instead, she rubbed her eyes and prepared to get up, dropping her hands to the floor. The softness of wool met her palms, and she blanched.

  He’d left her his plaid despite her hideous behavior. Embarrassed dismay curdled her stomach, and she scrambled off the plaid with a grunt of sorrow. She picked the tartan off the floor and brushed it clean in an effort to diminish some of her chagrin.

  Something dropped out of the plaid with a soft clink, and Isabelle paused. Her mother’s pendant lay exposed in the lacy handkerchief, and Jon’s words came back to her.

  Why can you believe that you’re half-Fae, but not that I’m a dragon?

  How could she? Because humans are ever inconstant blighters?

  Isabelle sighed, looped the pendant over her head, and resumed brushing off the length of plaid. Folding it carefully, she stepped closer to him, but she held her silence, unsure of what to say. His expression remained closed, but she couldn’t just thrust his plaid at him without a word. Biting her bottom lip, she extended her arms toward him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jon’s voice conveyed the opposite as he took the plaid from her and set it on his knapsack, then went back to the meat.

  Isabelle fidgeted. What could she say to him? That she believed him now? Do I? The question suggested she thought he’d lied to her. Nay, he believed what he said, however odd it may be.

  She tipped her head back and closed her eyes in defeat. Jon hadn’t needed to lie to her. She’d asked him to help, and he only wished to do right by her. He’d been honest with her from the start.

  “I’m sorry, Jon.”

  “So you said last night.” He refused to meet her gaze.

  “What do you wish me to say?” Her anger stirred, but more at herself than at Jon’s words. “Do you think I’m trying to hurt you? You must understand what you have said is unbelievable with a dragon already destroying the crops and livestock.” She snapped her teeth together and looked out the cave’s entrance into the misty morning. “The stories I have been told about dragons since I childhood are about large, frightening, destructive beasts with no care for anything but themselves. Now such a creature is out there, doing exactly what I expected, and I had no reason to believe it’s not a dragon.”

  “And you have no reason to believe otherwise without a different example,” he stated in a tight voice.

  “I have been taught dragons are evil, ravening beasts all my life.” Isabelle twisted her hands in her cloak. “Now you’re telling me dragons are not such creatures, and the evil destroying the village is a demon. It’s hard to put aside all I think I ken on one man’s word.”

  “Of course it is.” Sarcasm dripped from Jon’s voice as he rose. He wore his great sword and a wicked dagger at his belt. “I could be just a swindler, trying to deceive you into lifting your skirts for me. Oh, sorry, you chose me for that task, not the other way around.”

  She stepped back with dread as his face turned to angry stone before her.

  “I’ve told you secrets my people dare not tell anyone. Secrets of my heart, and I’ve placed the safety of my family in your hands. But because I cannot show you my true shape—”

  “Why, Jon? Why can’t you show me your true shape?”

  He hu
ffed a frustrated sigh. “Because I won’t fit in this cave.”

  “And you can’t go outside the cave to show me? What, will you melt in the weather?”

  “Isabelle, I don’t have time. I came here to kill the demon, not to argue with you about the truth of my words.” The disgust in his expression seared her soul. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d lie to you. You! My True Mate.”

  Chagrin burrowed through her anger. “I’m sorry, Jon—”

  Jon cut her off with a slashing motion of his hand for silence.

  “I don’t want to speak to you about it.” Isabelle closed her mouth in astonishment. “Right now, I must go and face the demon to fulfill my vow. I cannot be distracted by your ignorance or your cherished lies about my people. Stay here. Stay safe until I’ve killed the demon, and then I’ll return and we can continue to argue over your determined ignorance.”

  With that, he strode out of the cave, leaving his anger, like a living thing, roiling in the air behind him. Isabelle stood there staring after him, dumbfounded and furious. Why was he so determined to get himself killed? Just to prove to her he’d told the truth? No one could defeat the dragon or demon or whatever plaguing the village. Not alone, at least. She wished she could throw a rock and knock some sense into his thick head, but he’d already gone, swallowed by the shifting morning mists.

  The sizzle of meat returned her attention to the fire, and she dropped to her haunches to attend to it before it burned.

  Damn fool left without breaking his fast! She grimaced as she tended to the cooking rabbits, trying to ignore the little voice saying he’d left to get away from her. Isabelle jerked as if she’d been stabbed and looked toward the cave mouth. Jon had left his knapsack, and she threw her hands up in exasperation.

  Reaching over to the bag, she tugged it to herself and buried her nose in the cool leather. She hoped Jon’s scent would help cool some of her dismay, but she knew she’d been thoughtless to him. I’m so sorry, Jon. The scent of Marie MacClanahan’s bakery wafted out between the flaps of the knapsack, and she bit her lip as she opened the top. She ignored the voice suggesting she’d overstepped propriety. Inside, she found a cinnamon roll wrapped in a bakery cloth, and her heart broke. Marie knew she loved them, and somehow she’d sent one along with Jon.

  Oh, Marie, I wish I could talk to you now.

  She closed the knapsack and shoved it away then pulled the rabbits off the fire and let them sit for a while to cool. Feel sorry for yourself later, Isabelle. You made this choice. Now get on with it. She ate the cinnamon roll as she considered what she’d do that day.

  Part of her wanted to pack up immediately and move on with her new life away from Lochmore Cott. What could really keep her there? But the other part of her knew she had to face Jon Swift once more, if only to give his things back to him and try to dissuade him from going after the dragon. While she couldn’t be certain he wasn’t a dragon, she was certain he couldn’t defeat the beast by himself, dragon or no dragon. That meant she had to go after him.

  Isabelle stuffed the last of Marie’s cinnamon roll into her mouth and focused on cleaning the meat off the rabbits. No point in leaving food for scavengers. The heat burned her fingers, and she licked them to ease the pain, but she wrapped the meat in the cloth from the bakery and prayed the grease wouldn’t soak through.

  She packed her few belongings into her bakery sack and scanned the cave to be sure she’d found everything. Jon had left his things with her, as if he expected her to wait for him to return. He’d even forgotten his bloody plaid, for Goddess’s sake, and had taken nothing with him but his bloody weapons. Infuriating man!

  Isabelle clenched her fists and considered what she should do. If she left their things in the cave, they’d have to return to retrieve them later. But she’d never catch the stubborn fool if she carried too much.

  Och! Why does he have to be so difficult?

  Sighing, she wrapped his plaid around her body, trying not to enjoy the scent of him so close to her skin. Then she gathered her cloak, her small knife, and the bundle containing the rabbit meat, and took one last look at the cave. Their things should be safe enough, and they could return for them before they left Cameron’s Loch. She hurried out of the cave, scooping up wet dirt to smother the fire before she pushed out into the misty morning.

  Isabelle strained her eyes in the foggy daylight, trying to gauge where she’d found her sanctuary. Odd landmarks loomed out of the mist, and it took her several minutes to find her way back to the meager road leading to the village.

  I must be at the south end of the Loch. She’d no idea she’d come so far. Isabelle tightened her cloak around her and pushed on, hoping no one else would be out in the damp weather. She could barely see more than twenty feet ahead of her, and she shivered in the wet cold slipping around the edges of her old cloak. The rabbit meat offered a little pocket of heat in her hands, and she was grateful for it.

  The minutes seemed to turn to hours as Isabelle plodded along the muddy track, but a shift in the wind made her look up. The fog cleared a little, and she’d reached the bend where the road skirted the little copse of trees where she’d wept the day before.

  “Mama,” she whispered and turned her feet off the road toward the trees.

  The path to the demon’s lair was easier from the village, but in the interest of time, she’d take the shorter, rougher route from the copse above the Loch. The mist-laden heather immediately soaked her feet, but she’d be out of the cold wet once she reached the trees.

  Relief hit Isabelle as soon as she stepped within the circle dripping boughs. The scents of wet pines and soggy soil wrapped around her as the wind dropped to half its strength, and she inhaled a steadying breath. She listened to the trees singing in the wind off the Loch. She’d never heard their voices so clearly, and they comforted her with their ancient songs.

  Isabelle released her breath and closed her eyes, wrapping her cloak around her more tightly. The trees soothed her, but her mind returned to the man who’d sworn he was a dragon and gone to fight a demon. She sighed as her agitation rose. How could Jon face the creature haunting the village alone? He’d been frustrated at her stubborn refusal to set aside everything she’d been taught and believe in the magic of his heritage.

  He says I’m stubborn?

  Isabelle knew she should try to believe him, but her old doubts roared to the fore. He’d meant what he said, and his pointed words on her “ignorance and cherished lies” about his people had hurt, but it didn’t stop her from saying prayers for him. She particularly prayed he’d let the anger go because she knew deep down, nothing was ever accomplished well when such an emotion took the helm.

  “Sweet Mother of all,” she intoned as she lifted her face toward the Loch, “hear my prayers for Jon Swift. He believes he can take on t–the…” She faltered, weighing the right word to describe the beast Lochmore Cott had suffered for years. Jon swore it wasn’t a dragon. “Creature plaguing our village. I’m not so certain of it, and I don’t wish him harmed…If only so I can talk to him again and straighten out his misbegotten thinking.”

  She groaned and shook her head. Don’t let your temper spoil the prayer, Isabelle.

  “Please, holy Mother, watch over him and give him your grace and strength.”

  The oddness of her prayers struck her. Why should she care what happened to Jon Swift? Who was he to her, really? Oh, for certain, he claimed she’d become his true mate, but beyond the physical connection, what did they really have together?

  Isabelle admitted their physical relations had been good. Hell and damnation, ‘twas awe inspiring. But was there anything else? He’d asked her to be his wife after he took her to bed, and again in the cave, but both times had been after she’d screamed her release to the ceiling.

  What do I truly want from Jon? She wanted it to be more than just physical pleasure. She wanted his declarations to be real and heartfelt, but her knowledge about men and matters of the heart remained scant. She
knew what all women knew about men. They liked sex, and they satisfied the beast as quickly and as often as they could. But did they feel anything deeper than the release? If she used her mother’s husband as an example, she seriously doubted it.

  But Hamish isn’t like that. Hamish cherished his wife Marie and doted on her as if he loved her more than just the pleasure she could offer him. Isabelle saw it every time he looked at her. She wanted it for herself. Could Jon offer it to her? Was that what he meant when he said she was his true mate?

  “Bloody hell, I don’t ken.” Isabelle tightened her hands around the rabbit meat. “Och! Well, regardless, please preserve his stubborn hide so I can return his things and find out what he really meant. Thank you, holy Mother.”

  “An unusual prayer, to be sure.”

  Isabelle gasped and spun to face the source of the deep, masculine, yet melodious voice behind her, her heart in her throat. She dropped the food bundle and grasped her little knife as fear zinged down her spine when she took in the tall male figure within the circle of trees.

  His body had a long-limbed, sinuous grace conveying powerful strength as he stopped to look her over. He wore a plain brown doublet and gray braies, but the clothing was well made and of high quality cloth, betraying his wealth. A dark-green wool cloak hung on his shoulders, concealing his head with a deep hood.

  Isabelle swallowed and lifted her chin. “Still, ’tis the prayer I’m offering and is no one’s business by my own.”

  “To be sure.” Her companion approached and bent to retrieve her food bundle. “I believe you dropped this.”

  Power and presence radiated from him, and Isabelle hesitated to take anything from him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” He tipped his head and scanned her person, but Isabelle tightened her cloak around her body to disguise her form. “What brings a pretty lass out here in this weather?”