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“Are you not afraid of me?” His voice rang with confusion.

“I cannot be afraid of what I do not know or truly understand. All I know is that you said you do not wish to kill me.”

With a growl, he turned and came up to her quickly.

“You wish to know about me? You should be very afraid. My name is Rurik the WitchSlayer.”

She took an unsteady step back at his closeness and the glare he gave her. The innocent look she’d worn faded to fear as it lifted into her scent. It worsened as he skulked closer, and she started to retreat.

“I have been hunting and killing your kind for many years, and I take great pleasure in it.” Then Rurik lowered his head and bumped her body with his snout so she’d fall. “And you would do well to remember that.”

He turned away, allowing his tail to swipe just above her body as he stormed his way further inside his lair and, hopefully, away from her.

Rurik was angry because he found this woman... disconcerting.

In truth, her lack of fear of him, he somehow... liked? Yes, he must like it because it showed she had bravery. It meant she had strength in her personality he hadn’t seen before.

He was also becoming increasingly fascinated by her with every moment he spent with her, and he didn’t like that whatsoever. Even in her cottage he’d felt this way.

She obviously found humour in the strangest of places, and she had no problem with trying to share that with him already.

When she’d mentioned she’d might try to seduce him, his head had nearly spun off. He hadn’t expected it. When he realised she had only been teasing him, he’d almost wanted to laugh at her.

Maybe with her. He wasn’t sure just now.

No, he didn’t need to get closer to this kind Witch that he found attractive, with a pleasing scent, and sweet voice.

Rurik growled at his own thoughts.

His list of her positive attributes was growing.

Amalia wasn’t adjusting well.

She was horribly confused and felt cornered and upset. She had no way of letting these emotions out without screaming and crying, which she didn’t want to do. Eventually she would start letting them out, but she would rather them come out slowly, over time, so it didn’t feel like it was ripping her apart.

She wanted to run from how she felt, wanted to distract herself before she slipped into a daze. Amalia had always read when she felt despondent to escape her reality with books.

Alesia’s death through childbirth had been too much of a shock to her system and Bala and the lizard,uh...Dragon?It had all thrown her over the edge that night. Usually, she didn’t allow herself to become such a blubbering mess, but she’d been grieving and had seen it as her fault.

Usually, Amalia would read or daydream on her bed, letting her tears come slowly and silently. She didn’t feel comfortable enough here to allow herself that sweet peace because she didn’t want him to find out she wasn’t coping well.

She thought he may not care either way.

She was pretending with her emotions, letting him believe that she was fine, lying with her laughter. Some of her words had been funny to her because she knew she’d confused him, but mostly it’d been empty.

If he thought she accepted her new imprisonment with strength, she may figure a way out of it sooner. She was trying to be logical about this.

It wasn’t that she hated him, she couldn’t really. He’d saved her life, and she’d woken without pain. Actually, she was rather thankful that he’d done that for her when it was obvious that he detested her.

She just didn’t want to be trapped here.

With a sigh, Amalia got to her feet once the Dragon went around the tunnel corner with his tail flicking to the side.

Am I really to spend eternity with a moody animal?She sincerely hoped not.

She knew it wasn’t eternity, but Witches lifespans were still two hundred years, nearly double or triple a human’s life. The idea of spending another hundred and seventy-five years inside this cave didn’t sound appealing.

Not with an unpleasant Dragon, at least.