by Tara West
He paled. “What did she say?”
“I believe that dragon was her pet, and there are more.” She remembered Demendia telling her about the friend she was mourning, who’d been butchered in the street like a prized pig. Could Demendia have meant the winged dragon? Was that why the king wanted to keep them secret? Was he building a secret dragon army?
She’d thought the king stupid to take on an army as powerful as the defenders, but she realized he wasn’t planning to march his army to Periculi. He was going to attack from above with dragon fire.
MUCH TO KYRIA’S DISMAY, Titus was waiting for her when she left her uncle’s chamber. He handed her a steaming mug that smelled like sweet cider. Was this a peace offering? She wasn’t going to easily fall for his charms again.
She sat on a bench and sipped, cinnamon and sugar exploding in her mouth. There was also a touch of something stronger. Was he trying to get her drunk? She set the mug down. “What are you doing here?”
“What else?” He shrugged. “I’m here to escort you back to our hut.”
“I’d rather Quin or Theron escort me.”
“I’m not waking them.”
She ignored him, more interested in Anton’s actions. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her uncle slip out a side door. He’d moved with alacrity for an old man. Did he think he could fool her? Even though he’d promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, she’d bet he was off to warn the others about the winged dragons.
“Fine,” she said. He was the least of her problems. “Before we go, please send for the servants. I need a bath.”
He laughed. “You think we have servants here?”
She bristled. “My uncle has one.”
“He’s the general.”
He’d tormented her enough. She wasn’t going to let him bully her any longer. “And I’m the queen.”
“The defenders don’t recognize the monarchy.”
He said it with such a straight face, she waited for him to smile or laugh. She couldn’t believe she’d pined for this dragon’s ass all these years.
“Then send for my servant, Nadia.”
He gave her a long solemn look. “You know she’s not allowed inside.”
She threw up her hands. “Then how am I supposed to bathe?”
There it was. The finest crack in his shell around the corners of his mouth as subtle twin flares lit in his eyes. “I’ll take you to the bathhouse.”
He wanted to bed her.
“Fine, but you will wait outside.”
His mouth cracked again as he nodded to her spiked cider. “Do you want to finish your drink first?”
She arched a brow. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No,” he said. “I’m trying to relax you.”
She didn’t need to be relaxed. She needed to be believed, but she decided to drop the issue of the flying dragon. Very soon, she suspected, he and his fellow defenders would realize she was telling the truth.
Chapter Fifteen
KING MILAS STORMED into his mage’s dungeon, pleased she was working with her potions instead of making love to her ugly lizards.
When he marched up to her table cluttered with bottles, herbs, and animal parts, she didn’t look up; she was pouring green liquid into a glass vial.
“What is it now, Milas?’ she said, annoyed.
Milas had to bite his lip to keep from cursing. He squeezed his hands into fists, nails breaking skin until black blood ran. Demendia had been a second-rate witch when he’d first met her, unable to perform the most basic spells, but after living over a hundred years, she’d slowly become a powerful mage—too powerful. She treated him with scorn and her ugly beasts like kings.
“He’s dead,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Who?”
“General Brutus.”
She gave a start, spilling the potion on her dress. “How?”
“An attack of the heart.”
She shrugged and absently wiped up the spill with a wet rag. “One less for Evander to kill. You can have Ergor carry out the assassination.”
She was missing the point. Brutus’s death was no accident, which meant his little queen was more cunning than he’d anticipated. “What if she used the life water?”
“She wouldn’t waste it on murder.” Demendia snorted. “She only has one small vial.”
But what if his queen wasn’t as consumed with living as he and Demendia were? She was still young and perhaps hadn’t grasped her mortality. “His tongue was black.”
“Great goddess.” She pressed the rag to her chest. “Have you checked the barrel?”
Milas froze at the thought. “She wouldn’t.” Even if she had found a way past Demendia’s powerful spell, she wouldn’t be strong enough to lift the barrel. But Fae were known for strength and speed. His heart hammered. How long could he live without life water? Days? Weeks?
“Check, Milas,” she urged.
He stormed out of the laboratory. If the bitch had tampered with his water, not even the walls of Periculi would save her from his wrath.
As he entered the cavern’s low, dark hall, he ran into Demendia’s pretty, lithe maid.
“My King.” She curtsied, spilling water from the bucket she held. Even in the gloom of the underground dungeon, she was as fair as a spring flower and smelled like one, too. The scent of jasmine assailed his senses, choking out all other thoughts but his need for her. His cock stirred.
He pulled her up. “Please rise, my child. Who are you?” he asked, twirling a lock of blonde hair that had come loose from her braid.
She gave him coy looks from under thick lashes while readjusting her grip on the handle of the bucket. “I am Sylvia, Her Grace’s personal servant.”
“You’re new, aren’t you?” he purred, stroking her smooth cheek.
“I replaced the last servant after she perished.” She swayed toward him, like a reed bending in the breeze.
“Stay on Demendia’s good side,” he whispered, inhaling the sweet smell on her hair. Her scent was more stirring than any cloying perfume of Demendia’s.
Her eyes were the color of the ocean in the spring, swirls of blue and green. “Yes, My King.”
He cupped her chin, sorely tempted to brush his lips across hers. Her lips were plump and rosy, like a flower ripe for picking. “You’re uncommonly pretty.”
She giggled. “Thank you, My King.”
“Sylvia!” Demendia screeched from the lab, sounding like one of her ugly lizards crying for food. “Where is that insufferable girl?”
Sylvia flinched, her eyes going wide with fright.
Though Milas cared not for the welfare of others, his heart clenched at the frightened look in her eyes. “Go,” he whispered, tracing a line down her long neck. “Until we meet again.”
She licked her top lip. “I hope so, My King. I will be dreaming of you in the meantime.” She hurried away.
Milas looked at the bulge in his tunic. His cock hadn’t stirred so much in a long while. He wanted to march back into Demendia’s chamber and drag the girl out, but if he fucked her, they’d both incur the mage’s wrath. The thought of Demendia harming the girl made his stomach hurt and inspired in him a fierce need to protect. He hadn’t so much as smiled at a servant or slave since Demendia had fed a pretty servant to the dragons out of jealousy. He couldn’t risk that happening again. No, when he took Sylvia to his bed, he would have to do so without Demendia’s knowledge. The challenge excited and unnerved him, but he was determined to see it through.
“DID YOU TELL HIM ABOUT the winged dragon?” Titus asked as he escorted Kyria toward the bathhouse.
“None of your damn business.”
She was still angry with him and walked more stiffly than usual. If she hadn’t been on ice, she wouldn’t have let him steady her elbow, but she’d already slipped twice, giving him dirty looks, as if he was somehow responsible. Not that he didn’t deserve every barbed insult and side-eyed glare. He’d been stupid earlier. Now that the shock had worn
off, he was inclined to believe she was telling the truth. His sprite had always been of sound mind and had no reason to lie. The thought of a winged dragon in Sawran unnerved him, for he suspected the beast was connected to the king and his mage.
He took her to one of the smaller bathhouses, the one the defenders used for intimate occasions. Though he couldn’t deny he wanted to make love to her, he wouldn’t coerce intimacy with her. She valued her privacy. That was why he’d picked the private bathhouse. That’s what he kept telling himself. After ushering her inside, he flipped the sign on the door and closed and bolted it.
Her mood darkened with each step as he led her down the stone stairs to the pool. The pools of Periculi were unique springs that bubbled up from the ground, warmed by the lava in the mountain. The defenders had built bathhouses over all of them, transforming each into a luxurious oasis, their one reprieve from the harsh landscape. Though each pool was a unique shape, they had all been carved from smooth black rock. Their bathhouse was bathed in a pleasing yellow glow from wall sconces that hung from hooks in the rock.
When they reached the stone bench carved out of the natural border wall surrounding the pool, he stripped out of his boots and clothes, depositing them in a neat pile.
Crossing her arms, she tapped her foot. “I’m not getting in.”
“It’s safe,” he said. “See?” He waded into the shallow end, not stopping until he was submerged to the waist. The water was hot and soothing, as always, yet he felt anything but soothed with his beautiful temptress so near. He smiled invitingly. “Come in.”
“No.”
“I don’t bite,” he teased, splashing her feet.
“I’m not so sure of that.”
He swam to a bench on the opposite end of the pool. “I’ll stay over here.”
“Why do you have to be in there with me?”
“I’m not leaving you alone.” He’d seen his fellow defenders give her too many dark looks, as if she was to blame for her husband’s madness. He had no doubt she was more a victim of his cruelty than they were. He’d hate to have to run someone through if they threatened her. They needed to know she was under his protection.
Taking off her clothes until she wore nothing but a pale slip, she dipped a toe in the water. “Who is it you don’t trust, your fellow soldiers or me?”
“I trust you, sprite.” he said, feeling like ten shades of dragonshit for telling her he didn’t believe her about the winged dragon. He did his best to push negative thoughts out of his mind. He’d deal with the dragon later. For now, he wanted to focus on his sprite’s lean, lithe body, so wraithlike and elegant. His cock stirred, as the outlines of her dusky nipples were visible under her thin gown.
“Do you? Just an hour ago you were calling me a liar.”
He deserved her anger and hoped she’d forgive him. “I was wrong. I’m sorry I doubted you. If you say you saw a winged dragon, then I believe you.”
“You say that now because you want to have sex with me.”
Of course he wanted to make love to her. He’d desired her above all other women for the past three years, but he couldn’t risk getting her pregnant, so why was he taking a bath with her? Ever since he’d escaped the slaver’s whip, he’d prided himself on being master of his own body. Kyria had unknowingly tied a yoke around his neck again, for she’d enslaved him to the lilting sound of her voice, the arousing jolt of her touch, and the ethereal beauty of her soft smile.
“I’ve apologized.” His shoulders slumped. “What else can I say to earn your forgiveness?”
“Nothing.” She stirred the water with a long, slender toe. “There’s nothing more I want to hear from you.”
His heart clenched at the thought of her being cross with him. Didn’t she understand how much he loved her? “Kyria, don’t do this to us.”
Her gaze snapped to his, a flash of rage in her eyes. “There is no us, Titus.”
Her words crushed him. “You sure? Earlier you admitted that you desired me.” He couldn’t help taunting her. It was wrong though; he knew it as the words came out.
She looked away. “I don’t anymore.”
She was lying. At least he prayed she was. “What do I need to do?”
“You can start by not belittling me,” she said haughtily, though her lower lip quivered.
She could have thrust a spear into his heart, and it would’ve had the same effect. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He made a mental note to choose his words more cautiously from then on.
“I will.” He placed a hand on his heart. “I promise.”
“Turn around,” she said as she slipped a sleeve down her tanned shoulder.
His dick hardened as he heard her disrobe. He wanted to make love to her, to show her the tenderness and love he felt for her, for he suspected her experience with the king had been neither of those things. A darkness pierced his soul at the thought of that madman calling her back to Sawran. Would General Faustus force her to return to her husband? A thought struck him. She’d said she didn’t carry the king’s child. If Titus or one of his brothers impregnated her, the general would be forced to let her stay, even if that meant hastening the inevitable war. He wouldn’t let her leave while carrying a defender’s child.
He heard her splashing behind him and turned. “Do you like it?” He forced a smile, despite the dark thoughts which consumed him.
“It’s strange.” She sank into the pool, the top swell of her breasts just visible above the water. “It’s warmer than the baths in Sawran and there’s more bubbles.”
“It’s invigorating, though.” He led her to a bench carved into the pool. Sitting beside her, he handed her a sponge and bar of soap.
“It is,” she said, lathering up the sponge and running it down her arms.
He followed suit, cock hard and balls aching. He had to get his mind off fucking her, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to lay her along the shelf of the pool and slide into her, and he had a feeling she wanted it as badly as he did. “Tell me about this dragon.”
“I’ve already done so.”
Getting up on her knees, her breasts rose from the water. She lathered each beautiful mound, oblivious to his need for her, to his cock that had grown as hard as iron.
Controlling himself, he said, “Tell me again.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She handed him the sponge and turned her back to him.
He looked at the sponge in his hand, then at her smooth back as she drew her hair over one shoulder. She gave him an expectant look. Did she expect him to wash her back? Of one thing he was certain, if his dick got any harder, it would explode.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, running the sponge down her spine.
She faced forward. “Nothing.”
“That’s unlike you.” He drew the sponge from one side of her back to the other, stopping precariously close to the swell of each breast. “Usually, I can’t get you to stop talking.”
“Usually?” She gave him a cool look over her shoulder. “You haven’t seen me in two years.”
“One year, eleven months, and seven days,” he answered without thought. He’d been marking the days on the board behind his bed.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Do you think I can forget the day I brought your brother’s shield to you?” He squeezed soap from the sponge, imagining it was his heart. “The anguish in your voice?”
She turned and wrapped her hands around his. “My heart broke that day.”
“I loved him, too. He’s my first thought every morning when I wake, and I’ve mourned him every night since the day the leviathan swallowed him whole.” His voice broke and cracked like crushed granite. Though he loved Quin and Theron, he’d never had a truer friend than Alexi, the brave defender who’d sacrificed himself to Fanfir so that he might live. Of all the defenders, Alexi had the boldest spirit and was by far the most skilled and fiercest fighter he’d ever known.
“He was my t
win, my other half.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I lost a part of my soul when Fanfir ate him.”
Why did Alexi have to die? He felt like he’d failed his fallen brother. His one request had been for them to take care of his sister, and instead she’d been wed to a monster. He should’ve gone to Thiva when her parents wrote that she’d refused, despite them telling him the defenders were no longer welcome in their home. He should have gone and stolen her away.
“And now you are lost to us, bound to the devil himself.” He rubbed the knuckle of her wedding finger, wondering why the king hadn’t given her a ring. Was he that thoughtless or was their marriage such a sham he couldn’t bother to make her a proper bride? She deserved better.
She threaded her fingers through his. “I’m not bound to him.”
He pulled her close, wishing he could get lost in amber eyes that swirled with gold and green. When her belly rubbed against his erection, it took all of his willpower not to wrap her legs around his waist and sink into her heat. “I swear to you, sprite, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from him.”
Placing a hand on his chest, she blinked up at him. “I don’t need your protection.”
“Then what do you need from me?” He failed to mask the want in his voice. He hated being perceived as desperate, but he was tired of fighting his desire.
“Nothing.”
He rubbed his thumbs along her collarbone. “Liar.”
She swatted him away. “Stop calling me a liar!”
“I was joking.” He was shocked by her reaction. It used to be so easy to make her smile.
She covered her face with her hands. “Don’t you see? Nothing is funny anymore.”
He kissed the top of her head, grateful when she didn’t pull away. “What did he do to you?”
“Stop, Titus.” She looked up at him like a cornered animal, pounding on his chest. “I’m begging you. Please, stop.”
He had never felt so helpless in his life, not even when he was at the mercy of the slaver. At least then he could absorb the pain, but he couldn’t take away Kyria’s suffering, and it was killing him. “Tell me what to do.”
