He was large, even in his despised human form, and she a slight maiden. He took care not to hold her too tightly. He also reminded himself not to rush his seduction, even if his body was hard and ready.
She was stiff as battle armor in his arms, and as cold. He looked forward to softening her and filling her body with his heat. He’d never before met a woman he wanted so much to savor.
At least, not this way.
Einin heldon to her fury so she wouldn’t give in to her fear. Draknart. Even in his human form, he was a great beast.
“I’ve come for a swift end, you perverted spawn of Satan!” She scrambled away from him on the stone ledge until her back hit the cave wall. “Is a quick death too much to ask?”
He seemed intent on debauching her in the night before devouring her in the morning. And what if he did not eat her the very next morn? The blood ran out of her head at the thought. What if he kept her to torture her for who knew how long? To be at his mercy like this… Never!
The moon dipped to an angle where its silver light now shone straight into the cave, and she could see better. Draknart watched her, reclining in the middle of the “bed,” blocking her only path of escape.
The soft furs of his bedding stood in stark contrast to the man, with everything hard about him. She fought to keep her gaze above his chest. He was larger than any of the men in her village, made entirely of muscle, the thick cords bunching and relaxing under his shirt as he shifted closer.
“No!” She snapped out the word, holding up her hands, palms out, to ward him off.
She didn’t truly expect him to obey, but he stopped and stayed where he was. Then he said, with exaggerated patience, “Einin, sweeting. I am a man, for the moment. You are a woman…”
“I have come to die. Not for…that!”
Yet his words echoed in her head. I am a man. And then a thought formed in her overwrought mind, one that brought a small spark of unexpected hope. Must be easier to kill a man than a dragon.
She held her breath. She had not come here to kill the beast. She had given up that hopeless fantasy after the first try, but…if she could succeed now under these different circumstances… If she killed the dragon… She still couldn’t go back to her village, but… Could she claim his cave as her own?
The thoughts followed each other in rapid succession, while Einin tried to keep up, tried to imagine a possible future for herself instead of certain death.
She’d never had anything of her own. The hut in the village had been her father’s. She lived in it, but had she married Wilm, the hut would have become Wilm’s property the moment they wed. The dragon’s cave, on the other hand…
Einin’s heart had been racing already, but now it raced faster. A place of her own. Maybe she’d be safe here, living as a hermit. Safe from predators, for certain. No bear or wolf would come to a cave that smelled of dragon. And with some luck, there might not be another natural disaster in the villages for decades, no reason for the priest to bring another procession this way.
The back of the cave would be warm enough in winter, as long as she had fire. She could gather berries and eggs in the forest and trap rabbits and squirrels and birds—a slim chance, but a chance, her first true hope for survival.
If she could kill the dragon…
But how?
She had no weapon, but the clutter of the cave floor hid a number of old swords and daggers. She needed something longer than a kitchen knife, something that still held a sharp edge.
Draknart shifted closer. When her hands came up again, her palms touched against his hard chest. His body was warm, not hot, yet it seemed to burn her even through the fabric of his shirt. She snatched her hands back.
Time. She needed to play for time until she found the right weapon. So she didn’t shout at him again. She didn’t call him names. She didn’t even curse him.
He smiled. His dragon smile had been fearsome. This smile… His lips stretched over white teeth. This smile sucked all the air out of the cave.
She gasped. He had to be the devil’s own, for certain. Hadn’t the priest warned the village about just that? She dragged her gaze over him, looking for the signs: hoofed feet and horns, but he didn’t have either. Yet he was far more than the men of the village. Her gaze hesitated on his thick arms, his thick thighs.
“Only when you’re ready.” His voice rumbled along her skin.
She pressed her back against the wall. “Never.”
Her gaze fell on his large hands. They wouldn’t be farmer hands, of course. She was suddenly aware of her own calluses, of the dirt under her fingernails. Were his hands soldier hands, then? Used to wielding a sword? Probably not that either. He could fight as a dragon. Why would he fight as a man? But he did have strong hands, and her gaze hesitated on them.
“Only when you ask.” His voice filled with dark promises.
He slowly reached for her and drew a single finger down the middle of her shirt, between her breasts, from her neck to right above her belly button. He stopped there, his heavy gaze fast upon her face.
She could feel the warmth of that single fingertip through the roughly woven cloth, and a slow, insidious heat spread across her skin inch by inch. Nay. Nay. Nay.
