Page 8 of Dragon Lord

Yet his words echoed in her head. I am a man. And then a thought formed in her overwrought mind, one that brought a small spark of unexpected hope. Must be easier to kill a man than a dragon.

The thought sent her blood rushing. She had not returned to the cave to kill the beast. She had given up that hopeless fantasy after the first try. Under these different circumstances, however, if she could succeed… She still couldn’t go back to her village, but could she claim the cave as her own?

The thoughts followed each other in rapid succession, while Einin tried to keep up, tried to imagine a possible future for herself instead of certain death.

She’d never had anything of her own. The hut in the village had been her father’s. She lived in it, but had she married Wilm, the hut would have become Wilm’s property the moment they wed. The dragon’s cave, on the other hand, she might be able to keep.

A place of her own... She could be safe here, living as a hermit. No bear or wolf would come to a cave that smelled of dragon. And with some luck, there might not be another natural disaster in the villages for decades, no reason for the priest to bring another procession this way.

The back of the cave would be warm enough in winter, as long as she had fire. She could gather berries and eggs in the forest and trap rabbits and squirrels and birds—a slim chance, but a chance, her first true hope for survival.

If she could kill the dragon.

But how?

She had no weapon, but the clutter on the cave floor might hide a number of old swords and daggers. She needed something longer than a kitchen knife, something that still held a sharp edge.

Draknart shifted closer. When her hands came up again, her palms touched against his hard chest. His warm skin seemed to burn her through the fabric of his shirt. She snatched her hands back.

Time. She needed to play for time until she found the right weapon. So she didn’t shout at him again. She didn’t call him names. She didn’t even curse him.

He smiled. His dragon smile had been fearsome. This smile sucked all the air out of the cave.

She gasped. He had to be the devil’s own. Hadn’t the priest warned the village about just that? She dragged her gaze over him, looking for the signs—horns or hoofed feet. He didn’t have either. Yet he was far more than the men of the village. Her gaze hesitated on his thick arms, his thick thighs.

“Only when you’re ready.” His voice rumbled along her skin.

She pressed her back against the wall. “Never.”

Her gaze fell on his large hands, an odd thought entering her mind.

He wouldn’t have rough callouses like most farmers.

Were his hands soldier hands? Used to wielding a sword?

Probably not that either. He could fight as a dragon.

Why would he fight as a man? Though he could, if he wanted to, with such strong hands.

“Only when you ask.” His voice filled with dark promises.

He slowly reached for her and drew a single finger down the middle of her shirt, between her breasts, from her neck to right above her belly button. He stopped there, his heavy gaze fast upon her face.

She could feel the warmth of that single fingertip through the roughly woven cloth, and a slow, insidious heat spread across her skin inch by inch. Nay. Nay. Nay.

She feared the dragon, but she loathed the black knight. The dragon could devour her. But the knight… The knight was the more dangerous of the two. Einin couldn’t look away from his eyes as the bottomless dark pools swirled with fire.

He dipped his head and nipped her lower lip.

“Yield to me,” he whispered.

He caressed, nibbled, and tasted. He suffused her with heat, sending strange sensations through her that made her dizzy. And when she opened her mouth to protest, he delved in.

Oh!

The buzzing sensation in her mind spread to the rest of her body.

His tongue was hot, insistent, and wicked.

His heat began to fill her, spreading all the way to the ends of her limbs.

His large hand came up to her throat. The pad of his thumb rested against her frantically beating pulse before he moved his long fingers down to work the wooden buttons on her shirt.

She tore her lips from his to draw air. “Nay!”

He stilled, dark storm clouds crashing in his gaze, his wicked lips curving into a smile of utter male arrogance.

“You wish for more love play.” He took her lips again.

She was to have no time to search for an old blade, Einin realized, and grabbed for the nearest chunk of loose rock she could lift. To distract the man, she pressed her lips tightly to his. Now!

He must not have been as distracted as she’d hoped, because he disarmed her easily and threw the rock clear across the cave. Then he kissed her with even more fervor, even more thoroughly, leaving her gasping.

“Maybe later, if you still wish, we can spar a bit,” he offered with an indulgent smile when he finally pulled back. Then he sighed, as if the thought filled him with satisfaction. “Aye, but you’re a fine wee lass.”

Einin stared at him, confused and unnerved that he didn’t mind her attempts on his life. She had no time to puzzle over his reaction, however, because he kissed her again.

Oh.

Her mind buzzed louder. Her body about burst into flames. No village boy had ever kissed her like this. Wilm’s few forceful, slobbering attempts paled. She’d forgotten them by the time the bruises on her shoulders faded.

Now Einin felt like her skin was too tight, her body swollen, especially the part between her legs, to the point where the sensation could no longer be borne.

Then Draknart dragged his torturous lips to her neck, and a new wave of aching need washed over her.

By the time he made his way to her ear, licking and nibbling every nook and cranny then, gasp, sucked her earlobe into his mouth, she was near certain she was going to die, that this was some ancient dragon magic with which he meant to kill her.

“Submit to me, Einin,” he rasped, his hot breath on her ear sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

Every ounce of strength Einin had was needed to produce a weak “Nay.”