You shouldn’t be so far away,he silently scolded her.You should be under my wing always, metsalill.
He tried to pull her in during the night, but she’d stubbornly refused, too worried about accidentally jostling him in her sleep. And yet her head had somehow ended up close to his, her body coiled tight like she had to restrain herself from crossing the gap completely.
Taevas knew that even given a thousand years, he couldn’t have pictured a being as perfect as his Alashiya. It was a vicious blow to his ego to be so weak during their courtship period, when by rights he should’ve been showing her his fitness in all things.
Perhaps that was why it bit him so badly, the revelation that she’d fantasized about asept.Did she truly believe that it would takea group of gargoyles to take care of her? He wondered if she’d dreamed of being whisked off to some cave stronghold or grotto, where a gaggle of hard-headed mates would fumble around her, trying to please her with no appreciation for her delicacy, her vibrancy, the elegance she wore like a cloak of silk over her shoulders.
Or perhaps she mostly dwelled on the image of a harpy, though only the gods knew why that might be. Did she understand that they liked to scratch, claw, and bite? That they were violently territorial? At a cocktail party, he’d once witnessed a male harpy rip two fingers off a man who touched his mate in passing. As if that didn’t get the message across, the harpy had calmly offered one finger to his mate as a gift.
He ate the other.
Alashiya was too gentle for someone who could explode into violence at any time. Hismetsalilldeserved a life of softness and luxury. One where she could be adored and fawned over and pampered and showed off proudly at a moment’s notice.
She was a being meant to be worshipped by all, not hidden away by clumsy gargoyles or jealously guarded by a harpy.
It was decided. A dragon was the only choice for her, because only a dragon could appreciate the finest treasure.
It was a truth he felt in his marrow, and yet he couldn’t peer too closely. The future seemed to play in front of him, so bright and full of life, but he refused to pull back that last gauzy curtain that separated him from it. Once he did, there would be no putting it back.
So instead, he contented himself with the knowledge that she was his, nameless and yet known in the core of every cell. He stroked the soft flesh of her arm, down to her crooked elbow, and up to where her hand lay on the pillow between them, fingers softly curled in sleep.
Such hands,he marveled.To make so much beauty, to coax life from the earth with just these fragile fingers… I could admire them for hours. Days. A lifetime.
Gently, trying not to wake her, he pressed the pad of histhumb against the edge of one of her nails. A frown creased his mouth.That’s no good. It’s not sharp at all.
And her skin… Gods, he was always thinking of her silky skin. It was so soft. He could feel its delicacy under even gentle pressure with his clawtip. He shuddered to imagine how fragile her bones were. He knew nymphs were delicate creatures, but it was one thing to read about it and quite another tofeelit.
She’ll need her own Wing. Six men, at minimum, just for right now. Well, maybe even after we find the assassins. It couldn’t hurt to be extra safe. I should assign Radek as Wing leader. He’s a crazy old fuck, but he’s the only one who will truly understand what’s at risk.
Radek had lost his mate in the war, though to this day he refused to accept she was dead. Every chance he could, he scoured the UTA for her. They all knew it was no use. The internal compass all dragons possessed had simply malfunctioned in him, its needle pointing to a woman long-dead, making him believe she might still be out there somewhere, just waiting for him.
Poor, mad Radek,people whispered.Better to be dead than to outlive a Chosen.
Nausea swelled up his gullet to splash acid against the walls of his throat. Taevas promptly wiped that thought away. He wouldn’t think of it. He wouldn’t.
“Are you hurting?”
Startled by the sound of her sleepy voice, he looked up from where he’d been experimenting with her hand to find her gazing at him. Soft brown eyes gleamed beneath a dense fringe of lashes, and a frown puckered the skin between her dark brows.
“I’m fine,” he lied, now free to pet her outright.
“Then what’s with the look?”
“What look?”
She lifted a finger off the pillow to wiggle it in his general direction. “That one. Youlooklike you’re in pain.”
“I’m only thinking of how to care for you,metsalill,”he answered smoothly, trying to cover up how uncomfortable hisown thoughts made him. “I love how delicate you are, but it concerns me. I don’t think even an army of guards would take that worry from me.”
The audacious woman had the gall to roll her eyes at him. “Yes, yes. Nymphs are weak. Iknow.”
Taevas narrowed his eyes. “Did I say that word? Being delicate is not the same as being weak. A weak creature wouldnothave stood her ground in front of an injured dragon.”
Alashiya scrutinized him like she couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth. After a beat, she whispered, “Thanks, I guess.”
His gaze lingered on the scab and fading bruises, nearly unnoticeable now, that marked her forehead. He’d never meant to hurt her, not even to scare her, but that was the side-effect of losing the tightly held control he valued so much.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, stroking the backs of his claws over her brow. Alashiya’s lashes fluttered. “I was out of my head with pain and drugs. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I hurt you. It upsets me to think of it. I would never hurt you,minu metsalill.Knowing I did anyway shames me.”
