And the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that my body is still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.
I hate him.
I hate myself more.
Because somewhere in the darkness of my trapped mind, a small, traitorous part of me is already wondering when he'll do it again.
And that thought is more terrifying than anything else.
ACT I
DEVOTION
CHAPTER 1
THE DRAGON
I trace one claw along her collarbone, careful not to break the skin. She's so delicate. So perfectly, maddeningly fragile.
"Another one came today," I tell her, my voice a low rumble in the darkness of our chamber. "A prince. From the eastern kingdoms this time. He had a sword blessed by some priest," I laugh quietly as my claw draws circles in her skin. "Thought that would be enough."
I've already bathed her today. That's part of our routine. Every morning I carry her to the bath, wash every inch of her golden skin with water I've checked for it's proper warmth several times. I'm careful with my claws, so careful. I use the softest cloths, custom make her silk and lace nightgowns with my own magic. I wash her hair, work lavender oil through the strands until they shine like spun gold.
Then I dress her. Today it was the blue silk nightgown, the one that matches my wings. I have probably fifty for her now.
I brush her hair. One hundred strokes, every single day. I've done this for fifty years. Fifty years of caring for her, protecting her, loving her in the only way I know how.
I lean down, pressing my nose against her hair, breathing in her scent. Lavender and something uniquely hers, something I've memorized over fifty years. My wings shift behind me restlessly, the iridescent blue membranes rustling softly with my movements.
"He made it past the thorns. I'll give him that. Even made it to the tower stairs before I found him." My clawed hand slides down to cup her breast through the silk nightgown I dressed her in this morning. "He screamed your name. Called you his true love. Said he'd come to break the curse."
I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "So I showed him what true love looks like."
My hand moves lower, over her stomach, down to her thigh. "I pinned him down in the courtyard. Held him there while I told him about you. About how I bathe you every day. How I dress you. How Ifuckyou." I feel my cock beginning to harden against her hip. "He cried. Can you believe it? Actually cried. Begged me to kill him quickly."
I slide my hand between her legs, feeling the warmth there. "But I didn't. I used my smallest claw… this one…" I hold up my index finger, the talon gleaming in the candlelight, "and I opened him up….right here." I trace a line down her stomach, gentle, reverent. "Pulled his intestines out while he watched. They're longer than you'd think. Slippery. Warm."
My fingers find her through the silk, rubbing slow circles. "Then I wrapped them around his throat. Used his own guts to strangle him. It took a while." I'm whispering against her ear. I can see goose bumps pebbling over her skin. She likes it when I talk like this. "He kept looking up at your tower window the whole time, even as his face turned purple. Even as he died."
She's getting wet under my touch. Her body always responds, even in sleep. Especially in sleep.
"He thought he was your hero," I murmur, pulling the nightgown up, exposing her to the cool air. "But I'm your hero. I'm the one who saved you from that life they had planned for you. From men like him who would have used you and broken you."
While laying on my side behind her, I position myself between her thighs, my cock already fully hard, already aching. "Only I know how to touch you. Only I know what you need."
They don't understand. None of them understand. I saved her from a political marriage, from being used as a bargaining chip, from bearing children for a kingdom that saw her as nothing more than a womb with a crown.
I give her everything. I keep her safe, warm, fed. I talk to her for hours every day, telling her about the world outside, about the seasons changing, about how the forest grows wilder around us, protecting us. I read to her from books I've collected. Poetry. History. Romance novels that make me laugh because they get it all wrong.
This is love. This is devotion. This is what it means to truly care for someone.
I rub the head of my cock against her, feeling her wetness, feeling her body's want. The ridges along my shaft catch against her entrance, and I push forward slowly. So slowly. I've learned over the years that my Adelaide prefers when I fuck her slowly.
"That's it," I breathe, watching her face. Her lips part slightly as I enter her. "You're so tight. Always so tight for me."
I push deeper, inch by inch. My cock is too large for her, it always has been, but her body has learned to take me. The ridges help, each one dragging against her inner walls, stimulating her, making her wetter, making it easier.
"Almost there," I groan, my hand goes around her neck, the other clawed hand digging into the sheets beside her head. "Almost… fuck…"
