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“Am I not to cook for you?” She looked around at the many different baskets of fruit and vegetables. “This seems like an awful lot of food for just myself.”

Rurik was taken aback by her kindness. She was his prisoner, but she willingly offered to feed him.

“I do not eat anything other than meat in my Dragon form.”

“But you do in your human one?”

He wasn’t sure if he noted the sudden pinkness in her cheeks correctly.

“Well, yes. There are times I venture through human towns, and if there are no cattle available, I may find a tavern to eat at.”

He travelled often in hunt of her kind and would rest in small towns when he needed to – if there wasn’t an empty cave nearby, that is.

“Does that mean you do not want me to cook for you while I am here?”

“No. This food is for you. Perhaps I overcompensated since I was not sure how much you ate.”

He’d collected it while she’d been unconscious and asleep.

She gave him a small smile. The same one she had once shared with him. It stole his breath as it did before. It was sweet, innocent, and one that showed that the person wearing it was truly kind and thoughtful.

He felt his scales warm around his face in reaction to it, which would show more of the purple that the cold air around him had darkened. Her captivating blue eyes watched him, her lids flickering like she noted the difference.

“Could you perhaps show me where I can cook this? I am not sure I want to eat raw vegetables.”

He cleared his throat, just realising then that he was having a moment there. “Yes, follow me.”

Rurik took her to another room that had a cooking hearth he’d never used before and a table he’d never sat at. He left her there to collect water into a pot since he wouldn’t allow her to fill it with magic. He also dragged in a chest he knew contained cutlery and plates before leaving the room to stand just on the other side of the entryway.

With fascination, not with her task but with her, Rurik watched her peel and cut vegetables.

She was once again quiet. After spending all that time with her in her cottage where she refused to stop incessantly speaking to him, he found it rather odd.

“Do you truly not know what a coven is?” She affirmed with a single no. “How can this possibly be? How can you not know of your origins, of Dragons, or what a coven is?”

It seemed everything he’d ever known about Witches, he had to toss out his cave entrance with this one.

“My mother warned me of the dangers of being a Witch,” she answered dully as she peeled a potato with a knife while being careful not to slice her thumb. “She refused to tell me anything about them and only gave me two spell books when she realised I was using my powers in secret of her. So, she told me to heal without letting others know. Told me that if I wanted to grow my abilities, it should only be to help others. I believe my mother feared our own kind as much as she feared humans discovering us.”

Her mother must have been a White Witch as well.

“She was right to. Your kind is vile.”

“Appreciated.” He noted the sharp tone in her voice.

“I did not mean you,” he said, realising he’d offended her. “Just the rest of your kind.”

A small smile curled her lips, but she was staring at the carrot she had started peeling.

“I have always known my kind was bad.”

She dumped everything into the water. He’d lit the hearth for her a while ago, and the water had boiled in the time she’d peeled and cut her food.

He frowned, his head tilting as he watched her move about.

“You do?”

“Yes. I have heard about the things they do from the humans, and they are feared for good reason. I discovered what blood magic was on my own, how horrific it is.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Apparently once a Witch tastes the power of magical creatures’ essence, it will turn them, make them crave more. I have always avoided it because I do not wish to be like that. I do not want to be corrupted.”