Then she said, her voice full of melancholy that was unlike her, “At the village markets, I’ve seen birds in cages that could not fly away. I’ve seen fish sold in barrels.”
Draknart watched her. Most often he thought about her kind as reasonless vermin. They lived in villages bound by rules. They bent the knee to their lords and their priests. Could Einin value freedom as much as Draknart did? ’Twas an odd thought to have about a human.
“You wish to be free?”
“More than anything.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “To choose for myself. Always. To choose the path I take.”
A twinge of guilt cut through him. She did not choose to go to Belinus. Yet he was fair certain she would, if given the choice. To be the god’s favored one was an honor. She would be safe in Feyland. She would see neither hunger nor whippings. Aye, when Draknart handed her over, she was going to be grateful to him.
She had her eyes closed. Draknart closed his own. At first, he heard the wind and the wolves, a brook in the distance. Then, after a while, he heard her teeth chatter.
He opened his wing again. “Come on, lass. You survived being given to a dragon as sacrifice. No sense in freezing now.”
He waited. She fixed him with an uncertain look, but then she stood and came over, carefully laid herself under his wing, with her back to him, but making sure her back did not touch his body. She held her breath when he settled his wing over her as he would a blanket.
The clamoring of her heart slowed first, and then her breathing. She was asleep by the time midnight came and Draknart turned to man. He pulled her closer to the heat of his body and kept his arms around her. He was hard against her but did not try to seduce her. Her back pressed to his chest, he breathed in her scent. She smelled faintly of roast pigeon. What dragon could find fault with that? For a while, he just watched her sleeping and enjoyed the sight of her all soft and relaxed. Then he slept.
The next day,they took to the sky once again. He pointed out a proper town—few and far between in the Black Hills. She exclaimed over everything with far too much excitement. A stone bridge. A windmill. A rich merchant on the road in a wagon pulled by a team of six matched gray oxen. Which, were he alone, Draknart would have eaten.
In fact, of all the things in town, without Einin, he would have noted only the oxen. Her enthusiasm made him notice things he would have otherwise missed. She made him see the world anew.
They barely traveled, however, when a thunderstorm forced them to land. They waited out the storm under an old wooden bridge. He found Einin another batch of eggs, and since they were on the ground this time, he baked them in his fire, right in their shells. She offered him half.
He shook his head. They amounted to even less than the pigeon the night before. “Not worth the bother.”
She tried to hide how happy she was with his response, secretly pleased that she did not have to share, and Draknart tried to hide his smile. He liked feeding her.
“Tonight, we’ll dine on fresh-caught fish,” he promised.
She did not complain. She gave thanks for the eggs.
The lashing rain and blinding lightning refused to stop. The bad weather lasted most of the day, but he almost didn’t mind. While they huddled together, Einin entertained him with tales from her village. ’Twas dark by the time the storm passed, and nigh midnight by the time they reached Fern Lake.
Draknart’s landing was controlled, but his wings stirred up the fine sand on the lakeshore nevertheless. Everything was dry here. The storm had missed this side of the lake. Einin coughed as she slid to the ground from his neck, and he remained still so he wouldn’t stir the sand again.
She walked away with a stiff gait, then stopped to stretch her shapely limbs. The dragon now knew the feel of those long legs wrapped around his neck. The man in him demanded to know the feel of them wrapped around his waist.
She was a fine woman. Belinus would grant any request for a gift such as she. Yet the eager anticipation Draknart felt when the idea had first occurred to him had dissipated since.
The change was upon him before he could think much more about his suddenly dark mood. He was man again and as naked as a newborn babe. He stretched, the change leaving his joints achy as always.
Einin turned from him, quickly enough to nearly trip. She coughed as if she were choking on her own spittle. She hurried toward the water, nearly at a run. Since she was heading straight for the lake, she was clearly not running away, so he let her go.
He rolled his neck, watching the slim outline of her back, that thick red braid reaching to her shapely arse that popped into his mind a lot more often than was comfortable. His body was hard and ready. He’d never before been naked with a maiden and not had her. His body pulsed with the need to have Einin under him as he seduced her. He wanted to be looking into her amber eyes as they widened with pleasure. He craved the tight heat of her body squeezing his…
Shite.
Sweat popped onto his forehead. She is for Belinus. Belinus, the god. The sooner Draknart handed her over, the better.
The moment she finished drinking, he called to her. “Come. This way.”
He headed into the woods. The fairy circle was just a short way down a deer path. As fast as he’d flown, they had missed twilight. As the sun dipped below the horizon to visit another world, so could travelers pass into Feyland. They wouldn’t be able to enter the gate today, but he wanted to see it before he went fishing.
The stones drew Draknart. They drew creatures of the old world: dragons, fairies, trolls, and everything wild. They repelled most everything human and domesticated. The average man could go in search of the stones and get lost in the forest for weeks.
The path wound around a large rock formation that blocked the view of the glen ahead. Then he came to the clearing at last, and an enraged, beastly growl rumbled up his chest as he strode forward.
Nay! Not after all those cursed decades! Not when he was so close to freeing himself from the damned curse.
