Silence followed, a yawning, strangling silence that threatened to consume her. She wanted to fill it, but found her tongue too thick to properly form words.
“That’s insane. He needs me to save the world.”
He shook his head. “I’m not explaining it right. Please just trust me.”
She stood up. “Is that why you did this? Was this some form of manipulation to get me to go with you and the elf? They’re plotting to overthrow my kingdom. You know that, don’t you?”
“It’s not like that. If you’d talk to Fritz, you’d understand.”
“And let him put me under his spell? Maybe you’re the one who’s been deceived.”
“Trust me, it’s not safe. Look, I can explain more once we’re away.” He reached to grab hold of her wrist, but she pulled away before he could touch her.
“Why would I go anywhere with you, Erich? You’re corrupted.” The verbal blow landed, and he winced. She remembered the last night they’d spent together.
“Perhaps what we did just now was a mistake,” he said.
She laughed bitterly. “You cannot be serious.” She crossed her arms. “You come in here, bury your face in me, and then have regrets? Typical. I never should have given you another chance.” She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. His eyes darkened again, and she felt as if he were trying to control himself. “Which is why it should be the last time. I can’t control the dragon when I’m around you. It wants you.”
Those words sent a chill down her spine, and she hated how much it aroused her to think of his claws and scales coupled with his dexterous human hands. But it was good that he was drawing a line in the sand. She couldn’t keep doing this, not as the avatar, not as a woman. She had some self-respect. She knew men, and he would only hurt her in the end, and her life was meant for the church. Eventually, he’d grow tired of her and move on.
“Well, good, because you and your dragon can’t have me.” Then she turned and walked away without a second glance because she feared that if she did look back, the doubts would continue to creep in.
15
Erich had been reckless, thinking with his cock rather than using this rare opportunity. He could have whisked her out of there with ease. He was a fool. It was taking all his restraint to stand back and watch her walk away. If he followed her, forced her to come with him as he’d planned when he’d followed her into the garden, he wouldn’t be teetering on the edge of the dragon’s obsession anymore—he’d be diving headfirst into it. For now, its tastes were lewd, but it could turn bloodthirsty in an instant. And despite his disappointment in himself, his cock was straining, and the dragon was desperate to bury himself in her to the hilt.
All Erich could do was tighten the chains around it in a futile attempt to subdue this suffocating desire he had for her. The dragon wouldn’t go quietly. It scratched and clawed at his insides until he was trembling with the exertion.
If the moon were fuller, he might have lost, but after several minutes of wrestling with his inner dragon, Erich collapsed onto his knees, panting for breath but back in full control of his impulses. From the moment he’d arrived in Basilia, he’d felt this faint aching in his bones. No, it was before that, in Artria. The first moment he saw her, he felt the ache in his chest, a desperate longing for something he couldn’t put into words. And it was Liane. It had always been her. The dragon’s desires were unfathomable at times and often blurred with his own. He tried to keep that part of him separate, the monster under his skin and the man fighting for control. But every time he was around Liane, those lines started to blur.
He’d known from the start that convincing Liane to leave the church would be a monumental task. Asking her to abandon her faith, which formed the foundation of her kingdom and supported her mother’s rule, was a big ask. What he hadn’t expected was her rejection to pierce him down to his soft, vulnerable core. He wasn’t a stranger to rejection, to the fear and revulsion in people’s eyes when they learned the truth, from his father to the strangers he’d met on the way while seeking a cure. He’d thought Liane was different, but maybe that’d been wishful thinking on his part.
The hour was late, and curfew loomed, but each step back to the inn felt as if he were dragging his feet through the mud. He needed to recoup, to think up a new approach. Perhaps one where he wasn’t left alone with Liane. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself otherwise. Before tonight, he’d thought he had it under control, but maybe it was the dragon who’d had him under its claw all along. This was a new facet to the dragon’s curse he hadn’t experienced before. Perhaps the advancement of his condition was spiraling him closer to his inevitable demise.
He needed to keep it in check long enough for Fritz to get her away. Then he’d succumb and pay his debt to Leonhard by fighting in the ring, a miserable monster too afraid to die. Erich couldn’t fathom why he’d given him an invitation to the ball, but his gut had told him he had to go. Then he’d seen Liane and knew what game he was playing. Like the Sundland wine and the dagger, he was using her to taunt him and remind him of his debt yet to be paid. The mark Leonhard had left upon him burned, and after tonight, he was likely expecting Erich to come to him, but he’d ignore the summons. And would continue to do so until he had no other choice.
Pilgrims and laborers seeking an evening’s entertainment before the curfew bells rang crowded around the tables in the common room of the Raven’s Wing Inn. The innkeeper rushed between tables, arms laden with pewter mugs of ale, and the scent of stew filled the space. Erich was ravenous, but the thought of sitting amongst a crowd attempting to eat seemed ill-advised. He trudged up the stairs to his room, ready to collapse onto his bed and sleep until sunrise.
He swung open his door and was greeted by a warm fire and the smell of freshly baked bread, cheese, sausage, and meat pies. Fritz poured wine into two glasses before greeting Erich.
“I couldn’t find Sundland wine, but I hope this will suit you.” He raised a glass toward Erich.
Erich stared slack-jawed at the spread. Fritz gestured for him to take a seat, and without proper words to express his thanks, Erich sank into a chair, ripped open a piece of bread, spread warm butter over it, and tore into it. The last time he’d eaten this well was back at Ivar’s town house. He’d eaten plenty of inn food. This wasn’t the usual bowl of stew, hard bread, and nearly rancid sausage he’d become accustomed to at the Raven’s Wing.
Rather than thank Fritz for the food as he should, he asked, “Where’d you get this?’
“Isabella isn’t Bertha, but she is a good cook when properly motivated.”
Erich bit a sausage in half and chewed slowly, contemplating the elf across from him. He assumed Bertha was the innkeeper who owned the inn Fritz had spent the better part of a year living out of in Artria. It shocked him, given the history between their kind, that Fritz cared for humans. If Erich had to guess, Fritz had buttered up Isabella to make him this feast. Fritz ate a few bites of cheese and meat and smirked at Erich.
“How are your balls?” Fritz asked.
Erich nearly spit out the wine he was drinking and set down his glass as he swallowed hard.
“I meant to say the ball,” Fritz said, hiding his smile in his glass.
