He felt her loving touch on his forehead, and the caressing of her gentle fingers each time she cleaned his wounds. He heard every word she whispered to him in his semi-conscious state. She’d said sorry so many times. He longed to tell her she didn’t have to be.
Feeling her affection warmed him like never before. He wondered when was the last time someone cared for him this much. His emotions shook as he realized that even though she didn’t love him, there was room in her heart for him. He wanted to kiss her so badly.
He waited. His body recovered at too slow a pace. He wondered why mate bonding made dragons so weak. Perhaps it was a way for nature to find balance, or because it was his soul’s way of making sure he diverted all his attention to giving it what it wanted.
Regardless of the reason, he cursed at being so useless. He needed to wake soon, lest Ranwynn’s peers plotted against his mate again. He sought solace in knowing Fraser offered Constance his protection, but no other dragon would care for his mate like himself. He needed to be there for her.
As soon as he gathered sufficient energy, he forced his eyes open. She was sleeping at his side, a milky hand clasped over his. He knew his body heat was close to scalding. Why would she want to touch him?
“Constance,” he said. His voice had gone hoarse from being not used for too long.
Her brown hair shifted. She lifted her head, then looked upon him with honey-colored eyes. Dark circles crowded around her lids. She hadn’t been resting enough, like him. But as soon as their gazes met, a smile split her cheeks and the darkness from her lack of rest fled. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”
“I’ve got the hide of a dragon. Don’t underestimate me.” The words left his throat as a soft whisper.
A sharp pain spiked through his chest and lower leg. He winced. Sleeping had dulled the agony of his injuries. Being awake returned him all his senses, and they slammed through him like a bolt of lightning.
She noticed his grimace. “I’ll give you something for the pain.”
He’d rather she stay, but before an objection escaped his lips, she was up and out of the room. She returned a few minutes later with a glass of steaming brown liquid. “Drink up,” she said.
If anyone else gave him something similar, he would decline because of how suspicious it appeared, but he trusted his femriahl. He tried to sit up, then groaned as his chest erupted into searing anguish. He forced through it—a little pain normally did little to stop the Black Menace—but then Constance rested a hand on his shoulder. “If it’s too difficult to get up, don’t,” she said. “Healer’s orders.”
When he ignored her, she shot him a chastising glare. With a little more force this time, she pushed him back down on the bed. “The more you strain yourself, the slower you’ll heal.”
He gave in, then let his body sink back down into the silk sheets. The numbness bewildered him. It had been hundreds of years since impairment trembled through him, and he detested it. “I shouldn’t be this weak,” he said.
“You’ve been through a lot.” She scooped medicine up with a wooden spoon, then brought it to his lips. Her tenderness glowed at him like the sun, but her guilt eclipsed it almost immediately.
He took the liquid into his lips and swallowed. “You don’t have to blame yourself.”
“Hm?” She tore her gaze from the glass and peered at him.
“I heard your apologies when I slept. My pain isn’t any fault of yours. It is my responsibility to bear.”
Her body went rigid. She clenched her jaw. “You heard everything I said? Were you conscious this whole time?”
“Semi-conscious. My dragon wouldn’t let me rest fully.”
She paused, thinking, then said, “How long can you keep this up?” She scooped him another spoonful of medicine and, obligingly, he drank it.
“Keep what up?”
“Being tired, yet alert all the time. Why does your body punish you as such? Eventually you’re going to break. No being, dragon or human, can take such stresses.”
Grim acceptance set over him. He didn’t know if he’d survive this mating. He’d heard of other dragons dying before they could finish courting their mates, but he never imagined himself to be one of them. Even now, with his and Constance’s relationship close to collapse, he didn’t believe it.
“A month is when most dragons give in,” he said. The pain of his wounds faded into numbness. The medicine was working.
Her shoulders tensed. “A month.”
“But for me, maybe less. I have many enemies.” He almost hid the truth from her. He could have lied, saying he could take the mating’s tortures to make her feel better, but one didn’t foster trust by hiding such grave truths.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Rayse, if there’s a way to break the bond, would you try it?”
His brows knitted. “No, of course not.” If the bond broke, it meant losing her. Such a future made his heart shiver with fear. Would he want to go back to the void he experienced before Constance? Finding love wasn’t flowers and daisies like his younger self had dreamed, but it was infinitely better than nothing.
“I see.”
“Don’t ever think about such notions, little fire. In you, there’s hope and light. Suffering such pains is a reasonable trade-off.”
“Even death?”
“Yes, even death.”
Heaviness visibly set over her. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“For being so hasty and foolish.”
“I… don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, but they didn’t spill. She held them back with strong resolve. He regretted sharing with her his possible fate. He didn’t want her crying or close to it. A realization dawned on him as he looked up at her precious face. She had the most beautiful curls, and small, dainty features, but her eyes were round and as bright as the sun. They threatened to look through his soul.
He was falling in love. It wasn’t just the mate bond that drew him to her, but Constance herself. His human side, not his dragon, wanted to share the world with her. His emotions spiraled in a whirlpool of irrationality and need.
He didn’t want to die. More than ever, he was afraid to perish. Because if he did, what future they might share would dissolve into blackness. He wanted to show her Gaia on the back of his wings, experience the many new firsts she would have amongst dragon life. With her, he could build somewhere he’d belong—a family. Would their children bear more of his features or hers? Would they be shy or boisterous?
In silence, she gave him the rest of her medicinal brew. The searing of his wounds evaporated, but drowsiness entered in its place. It took away part of his energy. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to go back to being imprisoned in his mind.
“Tell me a story,” he said. Her nightingale voice would reel him to full consciousness.
“What kind?” she asked.
“A happy one. The happiest moment in your life.” What would make Constance Rinehart smile?
She brushed a stray strand of hair aside. “I don’t have too many joyful ones to tell. My life is either dreary or dreadful.”
“There has to be one. Everybody has a happy moment. It’s what keeps us going.”
Her face crinkled. Then softness washed over it and warmth sparkled from her. “I first healed someone with my magic when I was thirteen. It was Marzia. She fell sick with blue fever and I didn’t want my best friend to be ill, so away from Eduard, I harvested some souls and added it to her brew. Blue fever normally takes a week to heal under proper care, but Marzia was out of the clinic in just one day. Knowing I’ve made a difference made me swell with joy. And the use of magic… it’s intoxicating.”
“And did she know?”
“No, definitely not. My mother told me never to reveal my secrets to anyone. Witchcraft is punishable by death.”
“Humans can be unwise.”
“They
fear the unknown.” She shrugged. “And you? What’s your happy moment?”
“When I set my eyes on you.”
A blush crept to her cheeks. She hesitated, then a disbelieving laugh shot from her throat. “No, I mean, truly. The happiest moment in your life?”
“I wasn’t jesting. I’ve waited centuries to find my mate. Some dragons find their wives within their first hundred years. Five hundred years is considered old when it comes to mating. I was starting to think there was no hope.” His eyes met hers. “And then I saw you. I’ve dreamed of you since I was a child. And in that moment, I knew, and elation soared through me. I knew my life would change for the better.”
“But it hasn’t.”
“It has.”
She scanned him. “Doesn’t look like it to me.”
“Little fire, I would rather take a thousand years of this with you by my side than another day in emptiness.”
“I don’t understand what you see in me,” she said. “I’m ruined.”
“You faced hardship. And you came out of it stronger, but with scars. We can heal them together with time. You make me feel… open, safe, comfortable.”
“Safe? I’m a little human. I can’t protect you.”
He smiled. “Not in that way. Safe, like the way one feels when at home.” He pushed his body upward. Weakness fought against him and pressed him back down. He gritted his teeth. Pain didn’t plague him anymore, not with Constance’s medicine, but his pool of strength was little more than a puddle.
“What are you doing?” she scolded him. “Lie back down.”
“My dragon wants to kiss you,” he lied. It wasn’t his beast who wanted it, but himself.
Her cheeks reddened. “You don’t have to get up for that.”
He sagged back into the sheets and stared up at her expectantly.
Her breath quickened as she leaned toward him. She shut her eyes tight then lowered herself onto his lips. The touch of her skin and her herbal scent heated him. He wanted more, but in less than a second, she drew back. She tried to hide her embarrassment but did a terrible job of it. He could smell the anxiety coming off her in waves.
She twiddled her thumbs. “There.”
“Another,” he said. That brief taste of her hardly sufficed.
“Don’t push it.”
A spark lit in him. Despite her past, she had summoned the strength to kiss him. He knew how her experience with men had sealed her heart to them.
There was hope for their bond yet.
Everything in Everndale cramped around Ashur. He was a dragon, used to the openness of Dragon Keep and the blue skies. But he subjected himself to the smallness of the city, because they had the best women, and the company of women was the greatest reprieve from wounded pride.
He sat in a private, dingy room, lit by only one flickering candle.
“You have the finest muscles I’ve seen on any man,” the whore said. She had dark hair and a tan, caramel complexion—exotic. “A sword, and so many daggers.” She surveyed his attire and the stack of weapons he left at the bedside. “Are you a knight, perhaps?” The whore dragged her battered frock from her chest and revealed two plump, perky breasts.
She did not enchant him the way a mate would, but he couldn’t deny that she was gorgeous. She picked up his hands and dragged them over her milky skin. He obliged, then cupped her succulent mounds. She thrust her hip against his hardening wood and moaned. The cry sounded dramatic and forced. He withstood her theatrics. Whores always tried too hard to please men. A satisfied customer meant larger tips.
“Something like a knight,” he replied, then lifted her up by her waist. She crossed her legs around him. Growling, he tossed her onto the bed, still between her thighs. By the end of the night, this woman’s moaning would be heard across the street—and real. That was how it always went with his whores.
She tried to kiss him, but he turned his head away. This whore was his object, his tool, and he didn’t want to kiss a girl who had shared her lips with so many other brutes. The touch of his mouth was reserved for his mate, and her only.
A chill breezed over the room. A familiar voice yanked him from his lust. It echoed and bounced off the walls of his mind, demanding his attention.
Ashur… Assshuurrr…
The Mother was calling to him again.
The whore frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He backed away, then sat back on the chair. Ashuurr, my dear child… He placed a hand over his forehead. “Leave me. I need some time alone,” he said to the prostitute.
The whore sat herself up. She made no attempt to cover herself. “Is my service unsatisfactory, perhaps? Would you prefer me to be more submissive? I can do that.”
His deity beckoned to him. The time is near, Ashur. You need to act soon.
“Leave. I won’t ask again.” He dug into his coin pouch and fished out two silver coins. He placed them on the table. “For your service.”
The whore’s expression flashed with incredulity. “That’s… Thank you.” She swept the coins from the counter into her palm, shimmied into her frock, then scampered out. The door clicked behind her.
His fingertips ached as his claws threatened to sprout from them. The Mother’s calling made him more violent and eager to destroy. Her magical touch turned his insides into a whirl of overconfidence. With the Mother at his side, he was invincible.
Rayse is at his weakest now, the goddess cooed in his head. It will soon be time for you to claim your rightful place amongst the Everstone dragons.
He shut his eyes to hear her sensuous voice more clearly. “When?”
Soon. Be ready.
“In terms of what? Dragon years? Yours? Humans? ‘Soon’ can range anywhere from two hours to two hundred years, depending on what time scale you’re looking at.”
Do not question me, dear dragon. The time will come when it comes.
He cursed. The goddess was far from considerate. Then again, why would she have to be? She was a deity. He had believed her when she promised him the position of clan leader. Rynn, the other dragon who helped him escape Shen’s claws, mocked him for his trust, then fled like a startled cat when Ashur insisted they follow the Mother’s orders. Rynn couldn’t fathom why the immortal would aid them. Compared to her, they lived as nothing more than flakes of dust.
“What must I do?”
Return to Dragon Keep when I call for you.
“But his warriors will have me the moment I step into their compound.”
Have faith. I will make sure that by the end of this, Rayse Everstone’s head will be in your hands, and you will rise to glory as the one dragon to rule them all.
He nodded. He wasn’t certain if she could see it, but she had to. The Mother was all-seeing and omnipotent.
“I will be there,” he promised.
A coolness swept over him. Dragons never sensed the cold, but at that moment, he did. An ephemeral sensation misted through the room, then fizzled away as soon as it came. His shoulders sagged. He had only just noticed they were tensed. He rubbed two tired hands over his face. He wished the Mother would be more specific. For now, there was little more to do than wait until “soon” came.
He blew out the tension gathering in his stomach, then imagined ways the Dragon Mother would award him with the clan.
Constance dusted her fingers over the page of the Dragonian-to-Falronian translation book. “And… what’s the meaning of luvre?”
Rayse was leaning against the headboard of his bed, shirt off. She sat on the bed, next to him with the Goliath-sized book in her lap. The last few days she’d spent with the man consisted of hours of dragon lore, history, and language lessons that lit the flames of intrigue in her. Rayse seemed testy at first glance, but he was a patient teacher.
“Luvre means mate,” he replied. “You are my luvre. As I am yours.” He stroked her skin with the back of his knuckles. He didn’t think much of his touch, caressing her subconsciously.
A blush crept to
her cheeks. She licked her lips and traced her fingers over the page. “And… used in a sentence?” She wasn’t coaxing anything out of him. They’d gone through this process with countless other words. First, Rayse would give the definition, then he’d follow it with a sentence. It made understanding the language easier for her.
A smile brushed the side of his lips, and he said, “Kemsanna risken dars luvre.”
“And that means?”
“My mate has marked my soul.”
Her cheeks went redder. “Ah, I see. Kemsanna… risken dars luvre.” She repeated the sentence out of habit, to get the pronunciation ingrained on her tongue.
There was growling beside her. She lifted her head. “Rayse?”
“Ignore that… It’s just my dragon acting up. Even though I know those words don’t come from the heart, it causes… feelings… that I’m not good at controlling.” He smoothed his fingers over his hair.
She swallowed a nervous gulp and went back to the dictionary. “How about laska?”
He chuckled. The sound of his laughter played like a sonnet to her ears.
Amusement danced through his expression. “You shouldn’t be saying such words.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a curse word.” He cocked his head. “I’m not sure how to put it in Falronian. I guess the closest way to describe is… to split… a dragon’s ass?”
Disbelief and mirth gripped her, and then she was laughing. “I don’t think I’m going to use that term in any spells.”
“Perhaps not. But skewering a dragon’s ass might be useful in battle.”
“Placed in a sentence?”
He laughed again, then paused to think. After a moment, he said, “Von islyna dron feska, ishna gars ish laska.”
Obsidian Wings (Soul of a Dragon Book 1) Page 14