She stopped a good distance from him, smartly out of reach, her jaw clenched, her loathing gaze stabbing at his heart.
Mayhap the sleeping ledge would be too soon.
He sat on a natural rock formation that resembled a throne he’d once admired in a church in a faraway city whilst eating the congregation. He’d done some of his best thinking here, in the middle of the night. He contemplated her with more attention than he’d ever given a human before. Their first meeting had not gone as he’d expected, and this second one was quickly following tradition.
She stood still and straight in the darkness of the cave, as if waiting for the executioner’s ax. When a single tear came into her eye, she quickly blinked it away. Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath, then said the most unlikely words, mumbled them to herself, but his sharp dragon hearing caught them. “I wish I were a runaway goat.”
He blinked at her. “You are a strange one.”
Her shoulders sagged as she nodded. “And twisted too.” Misery laced her tone, her fingers picking at her britches. “And unnatural. Out of the natural order.”
“No need to be too hard on yourself, sweeting. No human’s worth a spit. ’Tis the way the gods made your kind. Not your fault.”
Instead of thanking him for consoling her, she glared at him. When she glared, her fiery eyes sparkled even more. The dragon fire inside Draknart responded.
They watched each other in silence, Draknart with anticipation, Einin with her fiery resentment, likely seeing nothing more than a shadow among shadows. ’Twas that spark inside her that drew Draknart the most. How she’d fought him just a fortnight before! But now he wanted to tangle with her another way.
His body stirred. He leaned forward in his throne, ready to lift her astride his lap if she came to him. “Submit to me, Einin of Downwood.”
Her chin—managing to be delicate and stubborn at the same time—rose a notch. “I’m in your power. You have the strength to take me. But know this, Draknart, be you dragon or man, I will never submit to you willingly.”
Heat pooled in his loins at the hot flames that burned in her eyes. “You are mine, Einin, by your own pledge. I will claim your sweet body and savor it. You will plead with me not to stop.”
She rolled her eyes hard, thinking he couldn’t see her. And because he knew she couldn’t see him, he allowed himself a grin.
He let his gaze travel over her, thoroughly investigating every inch. “Take off your boots.”
“I will not disrobe for your lecherous eyes.” Her hands fisted at her sides. She was probably wishing for a weapon, regretting that she’d come unarmed.
He caught a small tremble in those hands. She was angry, but she was scared too. He meant to have her in another mood and soon. “I merely wish to see that you are not hiding any more knives.”
When she neither moved nor responded, he added, “You did have that hidden kitchen knife the last time. A longer blade, and you would have been the end of me, sweeting.”
Dragons were tough bastards as a lot, but a direct hit to the heart could be lethal if the blade was angled to slide between the scales. And the way he was now… Curse the goddess, Draknart’s human form had any number of deplorable weaknesses.
Einin lifted her chin. “I’ve given you my word. I will not fight. My life is forfeit.”
“Even so.”
With a furious frustrated growl, the likes of which he had never before heard from a maiden, she shoved off her boots and kicked them away. Her voice was pure bravado as she asked, “Satisfied?”
Not nearly so.
“Now shed your britches, sweeting. Best to make sure you have no knives stuck in the waist.”
Her full, ripe lips thinned as she pressed them together. He did not know whether her fingers trembled with fear or anger—probably a combination—but she did untie her britches, then let them drop. The worn material pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them, another step away from Draknart.
Her coarsely woven shirt hung low enough to cover her to her knees, but as she moved, he did catch a glimpse of lean, naked thighs. His body hardened. He shifted in his seat. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t in a long time.
“Now come to me, sweeting.”
“I have pledged to return to you,” she said, standing immobile. “I have come to the dragon’s lair. I’ve come this far, but I will go no farther.”
Blood rushed faster and faster in Draknart’s veins as he watched her, the familiar urge to take rising in his blood, and at the same time, a strange new urge to make her unafraid. She was a brave lass, but courage had limits, and she’d reached hers. Instead of grabbing her in haste as Draknart’s body demanded, he slid off the rock throne and strode to her slowly, lifted her into his arms gently, though she flailed and fought, slippery as a spring eel.
“On my dragon’s honor, I will not violate you, lass.”
At last, she stilled. Did she believe him? He happened to have meant the words, but… Had no one told her that dragons had no honor? Did humans leave their pups completely uneducated? Draknart shook his head as he carried her to his sleeping furs.
