Kidnapped by the Dragon

by Kayla Wolf

  But the kitchen wasn’t empty. To her surprise, Amara was there, leaning against the counter looking a little lost with a mug of tea held in her long-fingered hands. She raised an eyebrow at Angela as she appeared.

  ”There you are. This place is a ghost town. What’s going on?”

  ”What’re you doing here?” Angela said dumbly, surprised to see the dragoness from across the valley.

  ”I was bored. Wanted to visit. But nobody’s around.”

  ”They’re having a big council meeting,” Angela said, gesturing over her shoulder.

  ”Oh yeah? What about?”

  ”Owen.” She opened the fridge that stood in the kitchen, still looking a little strange in the space that clearly hadn’t been designed for such appliances. She rummaged through it for leftovers, a little beyond caring about being polite to their guest. Amara seemed to sense something was going on and didn’t comment at the huge bowl of leftovers that Angela extracted. She followed her over to the table and sat opposite her, raising an eyebrow.

  ”You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

  ”A lot’s gone on,” Angela said through a mouthful of food. It felt unbelievably good to eat something, even cold leftovers—Owen had been right about her needing to eat something, she supposed. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough anyway. Just don’t tell anyone for a while at least, okay?”

  ”An exclusive scoop,” Amara breathed, her eyes twinkling as she clasped her hands together in excitement. “Consider my lips sealed.”

  ”The story Owen told us wasn’t true. He’s actually some kind of … assassin, or spy, or bounty hunter or something, from some top-secret organization on the west coast.”

  ”No way.” Amara was looking at her like she was mad. Fair enough, too, Angela reflected, forcing herself to slow down on the food she was wolfing down. If she’d heard the story a day earlier, she wouldn’t have believed it either.

  ”Yes way. He—kidnapped me.”

  ”He what!” Anger flared in Amara’s eyes. “And he’s here? I’ll kill him—”

  ”Don’t you start. Jessica’s way ahead of you.”

  ”Good,” Amara growled. “Seriously? He kidnapped you?”

  ”He had to! He was—it was his whole mission. But he changed his mind, Amara. When we got to the dragons who’d paid to have me kidnapped, instead of leaving me he just...” She shuddered a little, remembering that brutal, bloody scene. “He fought for me. Fought them all. Then nearly killed himself flying me home.”

  ”You’re not angry with him.” Amara was staring at her, curiosity and shock on her face.

  ”I’m not,” Angela said blankly. “I know I should be—and I was at first, don’t get me wrong—but … he made up for it, you know? He saved me, in the end.”

  ”From danger that he put you in,” Amara clarified, her eyebrow raised.

  ”I know. I know. But I just—I don’t know. He stayed here, owned up to everything, told us the truth even though it seemed to really hurt him. I’ve always known something was up with him, but I just… my instincts just keep on telling me he’s a good guy, deep down. Even under all the horrible stuff that’s happened to him, the terrible things he’s been through… that organization that brainwashed him tried to turn him into some evil killing machine. Even after hundreds of years of that, he managed to turn it around—managed to fight it off. For me.”

  ”Why you?” Amara asked, something thoughtful in her voice. “If he’s been doing this for hundreds of years… why was it you that finally made him decide enough was enough? Because I have a theory. I just want to know if you’ve thought of it.”

  Of course, she’d thought of it. She hadn’t thought of anything else since they’d arrived back here, since Jessica had demanded to know why she was defending Owen, since she’d looked up at him and realized that she wasn’t angry with him for what he’d done to her. But she just looked down at her food and kept eating.

  Amara rolled her eyes. “He’s your soulmate, wolf pup! God, is that obvious!”

  ”I don’t know!” Angela said through a mouthful of food. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Alexander’s deciding what to do about everything… he’s probably going to send him away forever, so who cares?” She felt an ache in her chest as she spoke. “Jessica wants him dead, so I suppose exile’s a pretty good compromise…”

  ”I dunno. Alexander has a way of surprising you,” Amara said thoughtfully. “I’d never have thought he was going to bring back a human wife, but that happened. I wouldn’t have thought he’d allow wolves to come live with us, and that happened. And I don’t need to tell you about how controversial Helena’s handsome husband was…”

  Angela sighed. “But that’s just it. He’s already made all those calls. The community’s on the edge of mutiny. How could he justify keeping Owen with us, even if he wanted to?”

  Amara shrugged. “It’s all about how you tell the story. From what I hear, this guy turned against some super-powerful organization to save you from a bunch of bad guys, killed most of them, then brought a bunch of useful information about said organization back to us. If you leave out the kidnapping, Owen’s a hero.”

  Could she dare to hope that that was the case? Surely not. Amara shrugged, finishing her tea, then got to her feet, stretching her long limbs. “I’m going to head home. Seems like you guys have more than enough to be getting on with. I hope it turns out okay, babe,” she added sincerely, moving around the table to squeeze Angela to her side in a one-armed hug. “Truly.”

  ”Me too, Amara. Thanks for letting me vent about it, anyway.”

  After lunch, Angela felt somewhat restored… but still tired to her bones, like the day after staying up all night. But she felt too restless to sleep. It seemed her family was still arguing. The corridors were deserted as she moved through them, and there was a strange, tense energy to the Palace that made her feel awful. She just wanted a decision, already. What was going to happen?

  At least she could kill some time reading. After all, she had a new perspective on the blood magic she’d been studying. Maybe her notes could be of use to Stephen’s quest to find a way of extending their lifespans. She saw Art in the corridor, sitting cross-legged outside of Owen’s quarters, clearly deep in meditation… but his dark eyes flicked up to her as she passed in front of him.

  ”You doing okay, Angela?” he asked softly.

  ”Yeah, I think so. How’s Owen?”

  ”Resting, I hope.”

  She wanted to ask a million questions of Art, who probably had more of an insight into what Owen was going through than anyone else here… but she hesitated, not wanting to pry, not wanting to tread on painful territory. The bear smiled.

  ”You can go in if you like.”

  ”Yeah?”

  ”I think he’d appreciate talking to you.” Art looked at her steadily. “But only if you want to.”

  ”Of course.” It wasn’t even a question. The bear smiled.

  “I thought that might be the case. When you know, you know.”

  She tapped on the door before she went in, feeling oddly apprehensive. Owen was sitting on the side of the bed, still in the bloodstained clothes he’d been wearing that morning. She wrinkled her nose, instinctively moving towards him as though to bully him into changing his clothes—but he flinched when she moved, and she stopped in her tracks, concerned.

  ”Hey. Sorry if I—disturbed you.”

  ”You’re okay,” he said softly. “I’m just doing some thinking.”

  ”How’re you feeling? Magic’s still working?”

  He smiled a little at that. “Still in top shape, thanks to you.”

  ”You should get changed,” she pointed out, wrinkling her nose at his bloodstained clothing. “You look like hell.”

  ”I feel like hell,” he said blankly. “Angela—how do I even begin to apologize to you? I—what I did was unforgivable.”

  ”You sound like my sister,” she said lightly. It was supposed to be a joke,
but his face fell. “Owen—it’s okay. Really. I—listen, you did a terrible thing. It’s going to take me a while to trust you. But I’m not… angry. What you did… the way you fought for me, the way you almost died trying to get me back home? The way you stayed here, told us the truth about you and what had happened to you? Burned every bridge with the only home you’d ever known?” She took a deep breath. “Ever since I met you, I knew there was something wrong… something weird about you, something you weren’t telling me. But I also knew in my gut that you were a good man. And I still think that’s true.”

  He was gazing at her with wonder in his eyes. “You can’t mean that. After everything I did—“

  ”Stop being such a martyr,” she said impatiently. “I’m not dead, am I? Or hurt, or sold into slavery. Thanks to you,” she added fiercely. “And if we’re going there… these dragons hired the College, right? Someone was going to come and kidnap me and take me up to those assholes up there. If anything, I’m lucky it was you. Who else would have changed their mind?”

  Owen shook his head. “I only did what I should have done—”

  ”No, you didn’t. You broke every rule that you’d ever obeyed to save me. Why? Why me? What was it about me that made you do that?” She turned Amara’s question around on him, frustrated, desperately wanting him to confess what she suspected but couldn’t believe. Not until he told her himself—and not on the edge of death, either. Here and now, in this room, wearing those bloodstained clothes.

  ”I can’t,” he whispered, unimaginable pain on his face. “I—I’m not the kind of person who—I don’t deserve—”

  ”Shut up.” She gathered herself, gathered every scrap of courage she had. “Do you love me?”

  ”Yes,” he said, like a sigh, like a surrender. The word felt like it had set off fireworks in her chest, but she fought down the urge to celebrate. This was important. She had to keep hold of herself—had to get this clear, make this point now before things got any more confusing. There was a chance he was going to get kicked out of the Palace, sent away from her forever. He needed to know how she felt, too.

  “Good! Because I love you. And that’s—that’s a big, complicated, messy thing, but we’ll figure it out, alright?”

  He was suddenly on his feet, and at another time, Angela would have been startled by that, intimidated by the size of him, the speed of his movements. But somehow, there was nothing frightening about it. She threw herself into his arms, wrapped herself around him and buried her head in his chest, finding solace in the warmth of his body. He buried his face in her hair, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her scalp, breathing her in. Steadying himself.

  ”You need a bath,” she mumbled into his chest after a long moment and felt—to her delight—a rumble of laughter moving through his chest.

  She tugged him by the hand, unresisting, into the little bathroom that adjoined his room. Running water had been a feature of the palace since before Lisa had moved in—some kind of complex setup that had to do with redirected hot springs from another part of the valley, nobody remembered exactly how it had been done, but they were very grateful for the ability to take a hot bath on a cold winter’s day. Owen set about washing the blood from his face and hands, and Jessica tugged impatiently at his bloodied clothing. He hesitated.

  ”Seriously? You’re going to be shy about being naked in front of me?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. He chuckled ruefully, then pulled his shirt off over his head. “I really did heal you, huh?” she remarked, moving closer, examining his body as he washed away the bloodstains in the tub. “No scars or anything. And you were… destroyed.”

  ”Yes.”

  ”How did you—” She hesitated, but she wasn’t going to back down now. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. They just kept hitting you, and it was like… it was like you didn’t even notice. They nearly killed you, and you just kept going…”

  Owen’s eyes flickered a little. “The training. It’s hard to talk about. I don’t… we don’t respond to pain like normal people.” He shrugged, clearly working hard to maintain eye contact with her. “The body’s a weapon. You keep using it until it’s broken.”

  She shivered a little at that. “You’re not a weapon,” she said fiercely. “You’re a lot more than that.”

  ”I’m trying,” Owen said softly, looking at her. There was something strange about his eyes—she squinted at his face, trying to figure out what it was. Something—unguarded, somehow. Some fairly significant wall in him had come down over the last twenty-four hours. As though he’d sensed what she was thinking, he smiled, dropped his gaze as he washed the blood from his body. “I’ve—I’ve got a lot to work through.”

  ”Yeah,” she said. “I know. If you need time alone, I’m happy to go…”

  ”No,” he said thoughtfully. “I think… I think time alone has been the problem. Especially time alone from you. I’d like much less of that.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. And when he rose from the bath and dried himself off, his whole body gleaming in the afternoon light, she couldn’t help but follow him as he padded into the bedroom again. Couldn’t help finding herself pressed up against him as he reached into the drawers for a change of clothes. Couldn’t help suggesting, with the touch of her hands and the ghost of her breath across his throat, that he postpone getting dressed, just for a little while.

  With a guard posted in the hallway outside (she giggled a little to think of quiet, placid Art as a guard) they had to be quiet. Owen threw back the covers of the bed and gathered her body in his arms, dropping them both onto the soft mattress and pulling the quilt back over them. They held each other, breathed each other in, hardly even kissing in the soft, dark enclosure of the blankets—he gazed into her eyes for what felt like longer than he’d ever looked at her before, his hand touching the side of her face in wonder.

  ”You don’t look scared anymore,” she murmured, thinking of the first time they’d held each other… when he’d hardly been able to look at her without fear flickering in the depths of his eyes. She knew what that was, now. Knew why he’d been holding himself back from her.

  ”I’m not,” he said simply. “Not of you. Not of this.”

  ”Good,” she breathed, leaning in to kiss him. They kissed for a long time, slow and sweet… it felt like getting re-acquainted, almost, but not quite. He wasn’t a stranger, this man, not completely. He’d been hiding from her for a long time, but she’d been sharp enough to see plenty of who he was despite his best efforts. “You’re a better kisser when you’re not pretending to be something else,” she murmured to him, smiling.

  ”You always did see right through me,” he replied, pushing her hair out of her face and gazing into her eyes. “Why is that?”

  She took a breath, feeling brave. “I have a theory.”

  ”Hmm?”

  ”You’re not allowed to make fun of me.” He kissed her shoulder, kissed her throat until she was humming with pleasure—then she pushed him, giggling a little. “Stop distracting me.”

  ”What’s the theory?”

  ”I think,” she said hesitantly. “I think you’re my mate.”

  He stared at her for a long time—long enough that she felt self-conscious, ducking her eyes. When he spoke, he sounded guarded. “Why do you think that?”

  ”Because. You destroyed your whole life for me. And despite what you did… I’m not angry with you. I feel like on some level… I knew who you were, the whole time. I was just waiting for you to prove you were strong enough to fight for me.”

  He stared at her for a long time—then a smile broke out across his face, disbelieving. “It’s a good theory.”

  ”I thought so,” she said, grinning.

  ”I think Stephen might’ve beaten you to it, though.”

  ”What?”

  ”We had a weird conversation,” he said, “the night before last. He told me I had to be strong. For your sake. I didn’t know what he meant
, really.”

  She made an exasperated sound in her throat. “He could’ve told me. Dragons are insufferable.”

  He laughed, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her until she was breathless. “You sure about that?”

  ”Are you going to make me take it back?” she whispered, challenging him. They kissed again with new intensity building—suddenly, his hands were moving with a great deal more authority across her body. The heat was building beneath the blankets, and she was grateful when he tugged off her shirt, unclasped her bra, tossed the clothing across the room before he buried himself in her embrace again. Her hair had come loose and was everywhere, falling in her face as she kissed him, and then suddenly he was gone, kissing a line down her body, lighting fires across her torso and then taking one of her nipples into his mouth and making her gasp.

  ”Shh,” he whispered, admonishing, and she remembered the need to be quiet. But as he moved further down her body, that became increasingly difficult. She bit her lip, clenched her fists in the blanket as she felt the scrape of the stubble on his face across her belly, his fingertips pulling her panties down as he kissed a path towards her most intimate area…

  And she had to choke back a moan when he started kissing her there—slowly at first, agonizingly gentle, teasing her folds apart and exploring her with his tongue. She urged him on with one hand in his hair, parting her legs to give him better access to her, unable to make sounds to encourage him so making do with her body. He was patient, and thorough, and incredibly good at what he was doing, and before she knew it, she was clutching desperately at every part of him she could reach, all but stuffing the sheets into her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

  And just when she thought it was inevitable that she would come crashing over the edge without him, he stopped—and though she made a muffled sound of protest, it wasn’t long before he was back beside her, kissing her throat, and she was able to wrap her arms around him and pull her body close to his, both of them breathing hard in the late afternoon air that was drifting through the open window. Nowhere to be, nothing to do, nothing in the world to think about but this, them, their closeness, the way their bodies seemed to fit together so perfectly, despite the drastic difference between them in height. She caressed his body, braver than she’d been the first time they’d made love, reaching down to stroke his cock until he was groaning into her throat, thrusting his hips against her. And when they were both on the brink of desperation, he pushed himself inside her, sparks flying across her vision as they found a hasty rhythm.