Taevas’s look turned downright mutinous. “Notyou.Us.”
“Huh?” She tried to sit back a little, but his tail held her there. Unwilling to jostle him too much, Alashiya held still. “Can you let me go? I’ve got to?—”
“Never,never,”Taevas hissed, eyelids drooping. The end of his tail rattled violently against her.
Sensing that she was getting nowhere fast, Alashiya tried a different tactic. “Okay, dragon. Okay. If I promise to stay here with you, will you let me get the medicine from the kitchen? I’ll come right back.”
He squinted at her for several long seconds, his expression grave. “Promises can be broken,metsalill. Minu metsalill.How do I know you’ll come back? You’re rebellious. Always hiding from me. I just found you. No more hiding.”
That tight feeling returned, though she hadn’t a clue as to why; only that he looked so sad, so expectant, that she couldn’t stand it. Her pulse quickened when she dared to stroke the curve of his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
“Some promises are harder to keep than others. This is an easy one,argaman mlk.”
He turned his face into her touch, seeking her fingers with a long, relieved sigh. “Don’t break my heart, please.”
The hook in her chest threatened to pull her heart out and show it to him. “I won’t,” she whispered, stroking his brow. “I promise.”
Chapter Eighteen
He woketo the soothing sound of a needle and thread being pulled through fabric. It was a perfectly rhythmic sound composed of several parts: a barely audible pop of metal through the weave of taut fabric, the draw of the thread, a slight pause, then another pop.
It wasn’t a sound he was used to anymore. When he was a boy, living in a shack on a mountain with parents fighting for the family’s survival, he’d often heard it in the evenings as his father mended clothing by the fire. Hisisadidn’t sleep until his mate came home from her service to Isand Jaak and he needed to keep his hands busy.
Taevas had never seen the appeal of sewing, though he appreciated the skill. His focus had gone to training as a carpenter. Like his father, he enjoyed having work to do, and carpentry connected him with his childhood hero, the greatest dragon of the Aždaja line: Isand Vanasarvik. Taevas idolized the dragon who’d begun life as a lowly carpenter, only to Choose a princess threatened by warring dragons greedy for her lands and become the greatest of the Aždaja line.
It’d been good for Taevas to have a trade, it connected him with Vanasarvik, and it calmed his young mind when fear for hismother sought to drive him mad. And then, like the sound of sewing in the evening and everything else he cherished, it was taken from him.
Taevas opened his bleary eyes. It took him several slow seconds to comprehend where he was. Exhaustion and a dull ache permeated every cell of his body. He knew that he ought to spring up, to summon the urgency his situation demanded, but whatever reserve he’d drawn from to chase his nymph had been utterly depleted.
He could only blink slowly, his gaze drifting until it found the most important thing in the room — Alashiya.
She sat at her workbench, her back to him, as she labored in the soft yellow light of a lamp. Everytime the rhythm of her sewing paused, it was because she’d stretched the thread to its limit, allowing him to glimpse the flicker of silver as her needle just crested the rise of her shoulder.
The air was rich with the scent of something savory. A brief pang of shame struck him when he recalled where he lay, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Crawling into her nest while she was away wasn’t the same as being invited, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Being in a more comfortable nest would help him recover faster, he’d reasoned, so it was in fact necessary.
Another failed negotiation with the hungry beast inside him. Another concession to parts of him he’d believed were locked away for good.
He’d been upset with her when she left. It burned something vital in him that he’d been powerless to protect her, that she’d defied his authority and waltzed out like she had — ignoring his commandagain.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the ruler of her territory. People respected him. They did what he said whenever he said it. It was galling to be defied by such a soft, breakable creature, and it was even more troubling to realize he could hate something and find it arousing at the same time.
But he wasn’t angry at her anymore. How could he be? Taevasgazed at the perfect, soft lines of her form with a raw sort of longing. He wanted her nearer. He wanted her in the nest.
Swallowing that instinctive urge, he croaked, “Did you find a phone?”
The rhythm of her sewing halted. Alashiya twisted around in her old wooden chair. Her brows were drawn low over her sad eyes. She looked concerned when she stood up from her chair and crossed the room. Kneeling down beside him, she reached out to touch his forehead with her inner wrist. “Fever’s gone down a bit and you seem more lucid. How are you feeling?”
“Like I was drugged for two weeks,” he replied, a touch crankier than he knew she deserved. “Did you find a phone, Shiya?”
He had vague memories of her return to the house and of being coerced into swallowing a few chalky pills, but no memory of what she’d told him. It vexed him that she’d gone into town on her own, but it might’ve been worth it if she’d succeeded in whatever plan took her there.
Removing her wrist, Alashiya sat back on her haunches. The concern in her eyes didn’t lessen. “You’re still warm. We should get some food in you and then more pills. If your fever doesn’t go down by tomorrow, I really think we should call the ran?—”
“Metsalill,”he interrupted, “the phone.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I went to the store to ask, and the only man who I know owns a sat phone was there, but I wasn’t able to ask him if I could use it.”
Frustration made his tone harsh when he demanded,“Why?Damn it, Shiya, you have no idea how important this is!”
