Page 14 of Fated to the Dragon King (Alpha Dragons’ Fated #4)

Hayley

“I’m sorry,” Alaric gasped. “So sorry. Just hurting.”

“I know, it’s okay. Lean on me, that’s it.”

I slid under his healthy arm, boosting him to his feet. His terrible weight nearly dragged me down, but I locked my knees and found my resolve. Alaric’s hair tumbled over his eyes as he breathed heavily, his blood dripping onto my bare skin, staining my bra.

“One step at a time,” I murmured, half carrying him. “Just one step, then another, that’s it, you got this.”

“ You got this,” Alaric muttered with a little humor. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

“You should be thankful.”

“Trust me, I am.”

Little by little, we made our way across the beach and up the stairs, sometimes weaving like a pair of drunks.

I worried about his bleeding, despite his assurances that it wasn’t bad.

Shunting aside the questions I wanted to ask about his being attacked by two other dragons, I focused on getting him into the house.

“The sofa,” he gasped. “Not the stairs. Can’t make them.”

I helped him to sit, then hustled to turn on the lights. I didn’t forget to lock the door. His attackers might come back, and Alaric was in no shape for another fight. Leaving him to rest, I trotted into the kitchen for a basin, water, and cloth.

Under the bright light, Alaric looked far worse. Blood stained his shirt, soaked into his jeans, and stuck tendrils of his hair together. His neck and shoulder looked like chopped meat. Still, he offered up a wry grin as I set the basin on the table.

“Nurse Ratched,” he commented. “Hurt me, please.”

“Knock it off, clown,” I muttered, unbuttoning the tattered remains of his shirt. “Who were they?”

“Damon was the black,” he replied, his voice weary. “The gold was Fiona.”

“Some fiancé,” I groused, peeling his shirt from his torso. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back up.”

“I tried drowning him. Didn’t work.”

Clenching my teeth, I wet a cloth and dabbed at his shoulder wound. Alaric winced, but said nothing as I did my best to clean the deep gashes. The water in the basin soon turned scarlet, and I had yet to clean the rest of him.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

“No. We dragons heal fast. Just do your best and let nature do her work.”

I shook my head and didn’t argue. “Should I call Willow?”

“Yeah. Later though.”

After four more basins, I judged his wounds clean.

At his direction, I went to a bathroom medicine cabinet to fetch antiseptic, gauze, and medical tape.

Alaric clenched his fists, his jaw set, in anticipation of the fierce pain the antiseptic would bring.

I hated to hurt him, but we didn’t dare let an infection set in.

“Ready?”

“No.”

I poured the liquid on his shoulder before he finished the single word. He stiffened, grimacing, his face tight as the burning sting set into his gory wounds. I did the same for his face, then the long gashes on his back. By the time I finished, he lay on his uninjured side, his eyes closed.

“I need a drink.”

“In a minute.”

I did my best to tape the gauze over his raw wounds, hoping he’d heal as fast as he said he would. “Maybe Willow can bring another present.”

“No,” he replied tiredly. “Lanokota isn’t free with her gifts. I’ll be a hundred percent better by tomorrow.”

While I doubted that, I left him to lie on the couch while I hunted up drinks for us both. I found a mini bar in an alcove just off the kitchen complete with whiskey, scotch, sodas, wine, vodka, and other bottles I skipped past. I mixed scotch and soda on the rocks for us both, and took them back.

Alaric gingerly sat up and patted the sofa beside him. “It’s too late at night to call Willow,” he said, taking his glass. “We’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Will Damon go after her?” I asked, sitting beside him.

“No. If he does, she’s more than capable of taking him out.”

I snorted. “ You couldn’t. You barely survived. What can Willow do that you can’t?”

“Willow is also in Lanokota’s service,” he said with a small grin.

“ She won’t let that bastard harm her beloved priestess.

Fiona either. Lanokota will turn them both inside out and piss on them.

Besides, Willow doesn’t look like she can harm a flea.

But get her angry.” Alaric sucked in his breath. “She’s a demon when she’s ticked off.”

I sipped my scotch, discovering I added too much soda, and pondered asking the difficult question. I inwardly shrugged and made the leap. “Did you love her?”

I braced myself to hear the fateful words – oh, yeah, I love her to the moon and back, I wish she was in my arms right now – and caught his questioning glance.

“Who? Willow? Of course.”

Rolling my eyes, I snapped, “No, dumb ass. Fiona. Do you love her?”

“Gods, no.” Alaric grimaced. “I never loved her. Nor she me. Ours was a sort of arranged marriage, something more political than affectionate. She wanted my titles, and I needed some considerations from her father.”

I breathed easier. “Oh. Good.”

He all but choked on his drink. “What? You thought I loved that harpy? Shit, I dreaded our wedding night. I’d rather stick my dick into a thicket of nettles.”

Now, I choked. I laughed so hard I spilled my scotch all over my bra and bare stomach. When the image of him sticking his shaft into thorny nettles emerged into my mind yet again, I laughed harder. Forced to set my glass down, I held my aching ribs while the tears rolled down my cheeks.

“I’m so glad you found my predicament so amusing,” he grumbled, drinking his scotch.

At last, I brought myself under control. I supposed that the threat of Fiona returning to his life and demanding his hand in marriage had been casting a dark shadow over me. Nor did I notice it. Now that their relationship was clearer, I could risk opening up my emotions.

Toward him.

“Need a refresher?”

He swallowed the last of his drink. “Yeah. Thank you.”

I mixed new drinks, then sat beside him again, a little closer than before. No, I had no sexual designs on him. Alaric was in no shape for bedroom shenanigans, nor would I push him. I felt content just simply being in his company, and remembered his magnificence in his dragon form.

“I loved seeing you as a dragon tonight,” I murmured. “So powerful, so graceful in the air. You fought – well – it’s hard to describe. You sent two dragons fleeing for their very lives.” I met his soft and smiling gray eyes. “I feel very protected around you.”

He bent slightly to kiss the tip of my nose. “And you acted with strength and guts, my queen. You were there when I needed strength and courage. You honored me.”

My face heated at his praise. “I did what anyone would do.”

“No.” He smiled into my eyes. “Anyone might run screaming in horror at a fire breathing dragon flying toward them. You ran toward me, ready to help. You have more guts and good sense than you realize.”

His warm hand clasped mine. “You held me up as big as I am. You never flinched at the sight of my blood, my wounds. You took off your own shirt to stop my bleeding. You conquered you fear. That, in my opinion, is true courage.”

I gazed into space, trying to see myself from the outside rather than what I’d always seen – a young woman cowed by her own sister. A person told over and over again that she’s stupid, that she’d never amount to anything, that no one could possibly ever love her.

I saw what Roxanne refused to see.

I am worthy of being loved.

***

I woke up the next morning with the bright sunlight streaming past the curtains. Muzzy from a sincere lack of sleep, and perhaps a bit too much scotch, I stretched. Alaric’s arm slipped off of me when I moved, and he made a grumbling noise from deep within his throat.

Looking around blearily, I remembered we’d fallen asleep together on his wide and plush sofa. Glancing at his still sleeping face, I recalled his dragon might, his grandeur, and absently wondered why he had chosen me.

Sitting up, I yawned, stretched again, then ambled into the kitchen for coffee. I sat at the table while it brewed, and my curiosity grew. Did he really heal fast? Maybe I could sneak a quick peek while Alaric still slept. Feeling like a thief, I tiptoed into the front room until I stood over him.

Carefully, I pulled the taped gauze from his shoulder wound.

I sucked in my breath. Stumbling backward, I tripped and fell on my butt. My teeth clicked together both painfully and sharply.

Alaric woke up instantly. “What? What’s going on?”

I merely stared in utter astonishment.

“Hayley?”

Unable to speak, I crawled over the carpet to the sofa. My hand shook as I pulled the bandage off his facial cuts.

All that remained of the gashes from the previous night were red lines. And I suspected they would vanish entirely before too much longer. His shoulder wounds were deeper, and yet had knitted together as though weeks of healing had passed rather than a single night.

“This is impossible,” I muttered thickly.

Alaric yawned. “What have we discussed about what’s impossible? I’m starving. Let’s get some breakfast.”

Gathering my legs under me, I shut my opened mouth. Standing over him, I ran my fingers lightly over his formerly damaged shoulder, then peered around him at the healed gashes on his back.

“Incredible,” I murmured.

His arms around my waist, Alaric pulled me in closer to him.

He kissed my belly, nuzzling my flesh like a puppy seeking its mother’s teat.

Unhooking my bra, then dropping it to the floor, he cupped my breasts, stroking his palms over them.

Naturally, his touch sent electric shocks through my skin, through all my nerve endings.

I spread my legs and straddled his lap, his bristled cheeks in my hands.

When I kissed him, his mouth opened under my slight pressure, his tongue searching for mine.

My arousal thrummed with heat across my loins, centered deep within my core.

I moaned into his mouth when his hand brushed across my opened crotch.

His raw strength left me breathless. He slid his hands under my thighs and stood up without breaking our kiss. Turning, he bent, lowering me to the sofa with my legs locked around his hips. Rising just enough, his warm gray eyes on mine, he took my legs from him and opened my jeans.

Slowly, with his nails scratching lightly and erotically down my legs, Alaric pulled my jeans off. Now I lay naked under his scrutiny, his hands caressing, stroking from my hips up to my waist and then my breasts. His groin bulged under his zipper, a massive lump that made me groan in anticipation.

I let my eyes roam over his bare chest, his impressive muscles, his flat belly with his sculpted six pack abs.

Bare of hair, Alaric almost gleamed in the morning sunlight, his skin as smooth and refined as golden silk.

I drew in a deep breath, desperately needing to touch him, to feel him, to possess him.

The words I love you hovered over my lips. I dared not speak them. Not yet. Not now. Alaric and I are husband and wife, but the specter of his return to his home loomed like a thundercloud. If I fell in love with him, I would surely lose him.

In slow motion, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his shaft free. It sprang forth, dripping precum from its tip, the iron hard length of it ready to impale me, to take me.

I wanted it so badly.