A Lair So Sinful

by Zoey Ellis

  I’mya frowned. “Badly. Why was that?”

  “He breathed fire,” Dayatha said as though it was obvious. “Dragorai fire is intensely hot—hotter than normal fire.” She lifted the jar in her hand. “I bought this salve to help him heal.” She turned again toward the window. “I wasn’t sure if he was too angry to see me.”

  “He’s definitely angry,” I’mya muttered.

  Dayatha sighed. “Then I’d better not be in his way.” She handed the jar to I’mya. “This needs to be applied four times a day to help heal his lips and throat.”

  “I can’t apply it!” I’mya protested.

  “Apply liberally and make sure you see it absorbed into his skin each time.” She shot I’mya a look. “It would be good if he did not breathe fire again while he’s trying to heal.”

  “So you can’t be in harm’s way, but I can?” I’mya asked.

  “You’ve already been in harm’s way,” Dayatha shot back. “It takes an intense amount of anger for him to produce fire. Did he harm you?”

  When she didn’t answer, Dayatha headed to the door, turning when she got there. “I will make sure everything you need is sent here,” she said kindly.

  I’mya was speechless for a moment. “Am I really a prisoner?”

  “He will want to keep an eye on you. This will have unsettled him, and he will want to reassert his claim anew… frequently.”

  “How do you know that,” I’mya asked, her voice hoarse.

  “I know much about the dragorai. It has been a long time since I’ve had to delve into that knowledge,” she admitted, somewhat to herself. “But I should have seen the signs.”

  “What are you talking about,” I’mya asked irritably. “What signs?”

  Dayatha held her gaze. “You need to talk to him about your heat. It will be impossible for anyone to tend to you, even if he will not.” With that, she left.

  I’mya paced the room, irritated with Dayatha’s cryptic words. There were so many things happening here that she wasn’t aware of, and it frustrated her to be ignorant about her surroundings. But she had to get out of the room to do anything about it.

  So she simply paced the room and waited for the dragorai to return.

  7

  It was the middle of the night by the time I’mya heard the dragon’s wings again.

  They woke her from an uneasy, shallow doze. She sat up on the bed where she had curled up earlier. It had been torturous being in the bed without him—her body remembered what was supposed to happen at night and had prepared for it. Intensely so. Her nipples were so hard they hurt, her slick had soaked the bed, making a wet patch where she sat, and her need was unbearable. It didn’t help that his scent was all over the bedsheets.

  She watched as the dragorai jumped from his dragon’s back, soared in the air and through the window, landing in the center of the room.

  He marched straight for her, unbuckling his pants and pulling off his tunic in a frenzy; his dark hair across his forehead was long enough to rest on those gorgeous lashes. Everything about his expression screaming his identical starvation, and he had never been more arousing.

  I’mya’s core clenched as he approached the bed and she scurried to the edge of it and lay on her back, her legs eagerly spread in anticipation of the deliciousness to come.

  She was not disappointed. He speared her with one brutal slam, wild and raw, and fucked her with a ferociousness that made her toes curl.

  “Why did you take so long?” she gasped, burying her face into his neck to get the pure, unadulterated scent she’d been craving. She didn’t hear his answer.

  Hours later, when every sliver of her body floated in sultry gratification, the events of the day drifted to the forefront of her mind.

  Nyro was wrapped tightly around her, his breath heavy and his face against the crown of her head, his knot still stretching her wide.

  I’mya shifted underneath him to try to reach the jar of salve, and Nyro tensed. He lifted his head and pulled back, holding her steady as he looked down on her.

  “I’mya.”

  His lips were still severely burned, but it was the look in his eyes that captured her. She couldn’t read his gaze, but it was heavy with something she didn’t understand.

  “Don’t try to speak,” she whispered, reaching across the bed for the jar. “I have a salve—”

  Nyro sharply pulled her back under him, preventing her from grabbing it but saying nothing. He simply watched her.

  I’mya watched him back. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she didn’t know where to begin.

  It was clear to her now that her addiction had gone too far. She’d spent every night for the last two weeks with him, but her reaction when he was gone for only half a night had almost destroyed her. It was as though she was going through withdrawal from sex, withdrawal from him. Dayatha had been right—she needed sex, or him, much more than she thought she did.

  That put her in a difficult position.

  Could she let herself be addicted to a man who had so many women to choose from? He may be enamored with her now, wanting to protect her from any other man or from any danger he made up in his head, but what about in a year? In ten years? In thirty years? She would grow old and more kon’ayas would join the lair and capture his attention just as deeply as she had. One thing the kon’ayas had in common was that they were not emotionally attached to him. They adored and respected him as their master, as a man who kept them safe, but none of them had this addiction to him the way she did. She had to get rid of it… or accept it. She needed to make a decision.

  Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and she almost winced at the sight of his cracked, charred lips. It had to be painful. Trying for the salve again, he yanked her back underneath him.

  “I want to help you heal,” she explained.

  Nyro said nothing, his gaze never leaving her.

  “This must be painful.” I’mya laid her fingers next to his mouth and stroked his beard. “There is no need for you to suffer with it. Let me treat you.”

  But he didn’t let her move. His refusal to allow her to help had her glowering at him, but he leaned down and pressed his nose against her cheek. She stilled for a moment, before threading her fingers through his hair. He breathed in and then exhaled, running the tip of his nose down to her neck and did it again.

  I’mya shivered, basking in the intimacy of it. “Do I smell as good to you as you do to me?” she whispered.

  He rose back up to look at her, his eyes soft and relaxed.

  “If you allow me to treat you,” she said slowly, “then I will be able to kiss you once you are healed.”

  The dragorai’s eyes narrowed to slits and his gaze dropped to her mouth. She smiled, then felt him still. After a moment he rose up, a silent indication he was allowing her to get the salve.

  I’mya applied the thick, herby-smelling, waxy substance to his lips thoroughly and watched it absorb into his skin. “We have to apply this four times a day.”

  He moved his hips slightly, as if implying it should happen on his knot; I’mya rolled her eyes. Their language barrier clearly wasn’t a problem all the time.

  She closed the jar and lay it on the bed, thinking how to broach the next subject. “There was no need to lock me in here,” she said, watching for his reaction.

  Immediately, Nyro’s eyes hardened.

  “I don’t appreciate being kept prisoner,” she continued, ignoring his stormy eyes. “There was no need for it.”

  “se mak el arad pe a.” His voice was sharp, hoarser than usual and as he spoke I’mya could see inside his mouth.

  “Does the fire burn inside your mouth as well?”

  “si am tzo dragorai,” he said. “shaf is kvish pe ek.”

  I’mya had no idea what he was saying, but he said the word dragorai, so she guessed he was saying that it was normal for them. “You don’t have to speak.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “Not until you are healed. I will check with Da
yatha and see if there is something she can give you for your throat.”

  He jutted out his chin. “si lulo lakh sira mesh, kmeyi zotz.”

  The arrogance in his tone made her shake her head at the predictable man, and she knew by now that kmeyi zotz meant fireball. “You are so stubborn.”

  Nyro snorted and wrapped his arms around her again, cuddling her close to his body.

  For the next stretch of time, I’mya remained in Nyro’s chambers and spent the next few days only with him.

  Mostly, he kept her pinned to the bed, underneath his weight or secured with his knot. But sometimes he would call for his dragon and he’d fly away over the mountain range, leaving her in the locked room with nothing to do. He never stayed away as long as he did the first time, ensuring that their nights together remained sweaty and orgasmic. There was a desperation and a tenderness between them that wasn’t there before. Nyro made it clear he enjoyed looking at her, and she was expected to lie there and let him. But he didn’t just look. He scented and nuzzled, and brushed his lips on her neck. He touched and caressed, and trailed his fingers over her skin. The mood of their blissful knotted moments was morphing into something tender and affectionate that made I’mya’s heart flutter, and she enjoyed it more than she liked to admit.

  Stewards bought food and wine multiple times a day, and I’mya was shocked at how much Nyro ate. It took two stewards to carry the enormous trencher into the room, and it was piled high with an assortment of dishes, fruits and snacks. Nyro always insisted she eat first, but even though she ate her fill, she barely made a dent in the portion. When she couldn’t eat any more, Nyro devoured the entire board. I’mya watched in amazement as the food disappeared. And that was just one meal.

  Dayatha visited every other day to check on his healing and on I’mya, which I’mya was grateful for. She had to mix a potion every few days for Nyro to drink before he ate, to make sure his food didn’t irritate or further damage his throat, as well as help it heal quicker. Dayatha explained to I’mya that he was burned from his mouth all the way down his throat, since the fire originated in his chest.

  “It doesn’t seem right that he would be burned by his own fire,” I’mya commented when Dayatha visited one day after Nyro had gone out on his dragon.

  “It is healthy for a dragorai,” Dayatha said, almost sounding proud. “It means he is well connected to his dan askha. It is one of the things they both share.”

  “Does his dragon get burned by its own fire as well?” I’mya wondered out loud.

  “Probably,” Dayatha said. “But ultimately he is an animal and has a different make up. His flesh is not like Master’s flesh.”

  “True.” She watched Dayatha as she measured and poured. “How is everyone?”

  “Doing well. They ask about you, especially Elora. She is like a lost goose.”

  I’mya had never heard that expression. “What do you mean?”

  “She has no one to look after,” Dayatha clarified. “She is happiest when she is being a useful and loyal friend. So she misses you. And she wants to make sure you are well.”

  That sounded like Elora. I’mya suddenly realized that Dayatha and the stewards must have assessed and examined all the kon’ayas. They probably knew them better than anyone. “Tell her I am well and I miss her too. Hopefully, I can see her soon.” She hesitated. “Is anyone upset about…”

  “There are some who are,” Dayatha admitted. She straightened up to look at her. “I’m not going to lie to you, I’mya. Some have concerns about Nyro attacking one of his servants. They wonder if it means he will attack the rest of them.”

  I’mya chewed her lip. “I don’t think he will.”

  “There is no way to know,” Dayatha said. “We just have to wait and see.”

  I’mya dropped to sit on the bed, her head low. “They all came here to get away from the war. And now they are afraid they’re not safe.”

  “Not all of them,” Dayatha corrected. “And anyone who comes here simply to get away from the war is not necessarily the right type of person for the lair.”

  I’mya frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Dayatha pushed the stopper into the bottle and began to shake it. “Before the war, the type of people applying to be part of a lair like this would be those who truly respected and revered the dragorai. Those who understood their history, the tradition of their culture, and how they live. The roles here were for people who loved the dragorai and wanted to live in service to them. Now, an overwhelming amount of applications are people who just want a safe place to live, an endless supply of food, medicine, sex, and company. But that is not why these roles exist. Obviously, the war cannot be ignored, so we look for a balance, but anyone who cannot understand or respect what Master Nyro is, and that he will have these seemingly unreasonable outbursts when he feels it necessary, do not truly belong here.” She lined up the pitcher and began pouring the mixed vials in. “Anyone who was paying attention would have known it was coming,” she muttered under her breath.

  I’mya was already in deep in thought. She hadn’t thought about it like that. None of her memories had revealed she had known enough about the dragorai for her to say she was there for any other purpose than safety. She glanced up, noting something Dayatha had said. “Were you here before the war started? It’s been going on for decades. I don’t even know how long.”

  “At least three or four decades,” Dayatha confirmed. “Yes, I’ve been with this lair for centuries.”

  “Centuries?” I’mya whispered in amazement. “How are you that old?”

  Dayatha laughed. “That is not a story for me to tell right now. But I’m not the only one.”

  I’mya shook her head in disbelief.

  Dayatha finally topped the pitcher with water and stirred the concoction.

  “If I wanted to find out more about dragorais and their history, how do I do that?” I’mya asked.

  “The library would be your best option.”

  “But I can’t read. I was taking lessons, but now I can’t even do that.”

  “Are you sure?” Dayatha asked. “If you can write, you can read, even if it’s a little. You made your written application more than once.”

  “Oh.” That was strange. “I couldn’t understand the books in the library.”

  “There are books in many languages and dialects in the library,” Dayatha said. “Not all of them are marked, but you should be able to find texts in the language you understand.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Since we both know that you have been able to wield Thrakondarian, you may also wish to look at text in that language too.”

  I’mya nodded, her eyes wide. “Thank you.”

  “I am always happy to encourage anyone to learn more about the dragorai. It is a fascinating culture.”

  “It’s not like I can simply visit the library, though,” I’mya said. “I’m locked in here.”

  “Speak to Master,” Dayatha said, packing away her bottles and vials.

  I’mya shook her head. Dayatha would not understand about her communications with Nyro. It would not be easy to simply ask him for things. He did what he felt like and rarely listened when she asked him anything.

  Dayatha paused and smiled at I’mya. “Much of what is happening between the two of you is new to him too. Give him a chance.”

  When Nyro returned, he sated himself with I’mya first and then turned to the platter that had been left for him. As he finished, he sat back in his chair and watched her in the bed, as he always did.

  She rolled onto her stomach. “Do you think you could bring me some books from the library?”

  He held her gaze, a thoughtful look on his face, chewing and swallowing his last mouthful. Without saying anything, he got up and left the room. He was gone for a long time, but just as evening arrived, a number of stewards entered his rooms. One of them took the platter out of the room while the others began clearing some the furniture and bringing in new items. They brought in a lar
ge bookshelf, a painting canvas with accompanying paints, and embroidery materials.

  “What books would you like on your bookshelf?” asked one of the stewards.

  “Books about magic, the dragorai, the history of the Twin Realms,” I’mya reeled off. “The Order of the Seven, the Mheyu…” She squinted as she wondered if she was missing anything.

  “That’s quite a list,” the steward remarked. “There are many books on these topics. Is there anything particular you are looking for?”

  “Anything that is an introduction would be good,” I’mya said. “And could you bring them in all the languages?”

  The steward nodded and then left the room.

  By the time Nyro returned, his chambers had a fully stocked bookshelf, an embroidery table, a painting area, and a Dao board.

  I’mya jumped into his arms. “Thank you!” she said excitedly. “I’m so glad I finally have things to do.”

  Surprise filtered into Nyro’s face. He looked over the room and then looked back at her, thoughts clearly running through his mind, but as usual he didn’t share them. He shifted her over to one arm and rumbled out a few words, touching her lips first, then his.

  I’mya narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t fully healed yet,” she said. “You get your kiss when you are healed.”

  Nyro scowled, but she just laughed. Until he hooked his head underneath hers, nudging her chin with his nose so he could lean into her neck.

  She shivered as he pressed his lips against her. “Don’t try to trick me into it.” She wriggled out of his arms and headed to the Dao table. It was the most gorgeous board she’d seen. Made from beautiful wood and thin streaks of precious metals, it had been decorated to perfection. The matching figurines had been carved in excruciating detail. I’mya didn’t know if they were an accurate depiction of Seven Goddesses, but they were beautiful on the board. “Let’s play.” She beamed at Nyro.

  A couple of nights later, I’mya tried to think of how to address her heat. It was arriving soon and they had to discuss it. He could not keep her locked in his chambers if he wasn’t going to tend to her during it. I’mya was nervous about bringing it up. She wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t avoid it much longer—it didn’t seem like Nyro was going to end her imprisonment in his chambers any time soon.