Page 15 of Dragon Lord

D raknart lay on his belly, his nose filled with Einin’s soft scent. She’d washed his wound and was dressing it, using a strip torn from the bottom of her shirt. He oddly liked the fuss she made.

“’Tis not necessary, sweeting,” he told her anyway.

“I’m loath to leave you to bleed.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, then looked away. “You carried me on your back, flying and swimming. You fed me. You kept me warm in the night.”

Wispy locks of hair escaped her braid, creating a halo of sunshine around her head. Her hands were small and delicate, her touch soft, yet Draknart knew her arms were strong enough to wield a sword.

She met his eyes. “Why have you been cursed?”

A cough rumbled around in his chest. She was not going to like the tale. Then again, ’twas not as if she liked much about him. None of her kind did. He was reviled.

For a moment, he wished it could be different, that he were a different kind of beast, that mayhap he hadn’t done all he’d done in the past centuries. But the past was the past, and he was the beast he was, no help for it.

“A hundred years ago or so,” he said, “I came upon Belisama’s priestesses at the river as they were tossing flower wreaths into the water for her. They were comely lasses. We had a bit o’ fun.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Meaning you swived them, then you ate them?”

He flinched.

She shook her head with a sad sigh but did not stop caring for him.

“I deserved the curse.” He hung his head. Then he looked up again. “But it’s been a hundred years. Could Belisama not forgive me?” An exasperated grunt escaped him. “I tried to swive you, then eat you. You’re just a wee maiden, and you have forgiven me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I have?”

“Haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she said on a sigh. “Can I blame a beast for being a beast?”

“You make me want to be less beastly.” The words escaped against his will. And since he was making no sense, he went all the way. “Should I then be more like the knights?”

He glanced toward the lake where he could pick up the splashing sounds Jon of Fernwood made as he swam for the opposite shore.

“You’re not entirely insufferable as a dragon.” She wiped off a fresh rivulet of blood. “But you should not eat any villagers.”

Every time she touched him, the touch tingled across his skin, and an unfamiliar energy surged through Draknart. “Not even if they disturb me in my own cave?”

“Not even.” She put her hands on her hips. “You are fearsome enough to scare them away.”

Einin of Downwood brought his heart back to life.

If dragons could love, he might be able to love one such as her. Of course, she could probably never love a beast like him. As she returned to her ministrations, a dark mood settled over Draknart.

Aye, she was fine. She was certainly fit for a god. Trouble was, Draknart was no longer sure he wanted to give her to Belinus.

Yet belonging to Belinus would be best for her. She would live in the god’s palace. Nobody would ever whip her again; she’d be far from the clutches of the people of her village. In Fae Land, she would not grow old but remain forever beautiful Einin.

As a cursed dragon, Draknart could offer her precious little: a dank cave, and human company for only a few hours each night. No, she would never choose that over Fae Land. She didn’t think of him as an entirely vile beast, but a beast nevertheless.

“Are you going to ask Belisama to dissolve the curse?” she asked. “When we go through the faerie circle?”

“She swore that she would not,” he grumbled. “She’s that mad at me.”

Einin shot him a questioning look.

“I will ask the god Belinus.” Draknart stayed still as Einin gently wrapped his wound in moss, holding it in place with a plaster of wet leaves.

Then she was finished, and she inspected her handiwork with satisfaction. “Now you rest.” She left him and walked toward the water. Halfway there, she called over her shoulder, “Would Belinus go against his own wife the goddess?”

“They argued some decades ago. He is no longer welcome in her glens and her palaces.” Draknart paused. “He must be lonely.”

Einin halted, her gaze examining him with intent, very, very carefully. “Why would he help you?”

Draknart looked at the lake. The knight had swum too far to be seen or heard even by a dragon; he’d be reaching shore soon. “Let us go to the faerie circle. Twilight nears.”

Einin went with him, she even stood in the middle of the circle next to him, but as the sun dipped below the horizon and left the sky dark, nothing happened.

Draknart’s spiked tail beat the ground, setting an impatient rhythm.

“The sun stone must not be lined up exactly to the east.” He corrected the placement. Then he moved another boulder, the task easier now that he was in dragon form.

Einin turned slowly in the middle of the circle. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Gather the greenest branches.” He’d seen the humans crown the stones with green. “The gods might like that.”

She hurried to the edge of the clearing and brought Draknart an armload of branches from the evergreen bushes. While he twisted them into large wreaths that he laid atop the tall boulders, she went back for more.

The night wore on as they decorated the stone circle. From time to time, Draknart drew back to inspect their handiwork. Their offering might just work. Of course, now they would have to wait another day.

“How will you convince Belinus to lift the curse? What will you give him in exchange?” Einin asked.

Draknart huffed. The plan he’d thought perfect just days before now seemed ill-conceived. Yet it was the only plan he had, his first real chance at restoration in a century.

“He is fond of beautiful maidens.”

“But—” Einin paled for a moment. Then all the blood rushed back into her face, and her cheeks turned an angry red. She flung her arms wide as she shouted, “You brought me for him!”

He ducked his head. “Aye.”

“You—” Her voice broke, not on fear, but on fury.

Draknart felt her disappointment as sharply as if he’d been stabbed in the snout. Was that a sheen of tears in her eyes? She was rapidly blinking. Then she squared her shoulders, and he knew she was about to shout at him again.

“You will live in a palace,” he headed her off, then fell silent at the strange tone of his voice that sounded very much like begging, which could not be as dragons never begged.

He cleared his throat. “You will lack for nothing. You will know neither hunger nor disease. Death will not touch you in Fae Land.”

She swore like a goatherd, sparks flashing in her eyes. She backed away from him, gripping her sword.

By the gods, Draknart loved her. Her fire was the truest and most beautiful thing he’d seen in centuries. If she stabbed him in the heart right now, it’d be almost worth it just to have met her.

“Have you ever asked me if I want to live forever?” she shouted with rage. She threw her sword at him, missed, then picked up a stone from the ground and hurled it.

Draknart felt as heavy as if he’d eaten the faerie circle’s boulders for breakfast. He didn’t duck. He let the missile hit him. He deserved that for not being honest from the beginning. He did.

“Fine.” Einin spun on her heel and marched away from him. “I choose to go to Belinus. I will serve the god, and I will live in Fae Land forever.”

No! The fire inside Draknart roared. Her declaration was a broadsword slicing through his chest.

His muscles coiled. He raked the ground with his talons as he stalked after her.

He hated the tone of disgust in her voice.

He wanted to cradle her face in his human palms, just before his lips descended on hers.

He wanted her lean, strong body. He wanted her fiery spirit and her sharp tongue.

He wanted her courageous heart. He wanted Einin. All of her. Everything.

He would bring a different maiden for Belinus, come twilight. He could bring as many as a dozen, pick all the comeliest lasses from the village across the lake.

Aye. The god would have to settle for another virgin.

Because the thought of Belinus touching Einin filled Draknart with a murderous rage.

Belinus would not take her soft lips. The god would not hear her sigh in passion.

Einin would not squirm in pleasure under anyone but Draknart.

She would not spar with anyone else. And if she traveled the world, she’d be flying with him .

She stomped toward the deer path that led back to the lake. No doubt, she was thinking about living in Fae Land. She was probably planning how to best seduce Belinus. Not that it would take much. No more than a look. Her amber eyes…

Molten fury exploded through Draknart.

He surged forward.

“You will not give yourself to the god!” he roared. The birds in the trees took flight with a mad storm of flapping wings. “Einin of Downwood, I claim you by my dragon’s right.”

She whirled around, squared her shoulders, and roared back at him, “I am a woman free and wild. I’m not yours to claim!”