Page 17 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Seventeen

T he dull light from an early morning spills across the tent. I stretch, wincing at the pain in my arms and back—

My elbow brushes against a solid warm body beside me. The night before comes flooding back to my awareness. Jaromir. His soft but assured touches as he drove me within an inch of my sanity with nothing but his hands and his kisses. At one point, he’d disappeared for his shift to watch the camp, but when he returned, he woke me with a kiss and his hand between my legs.

He hadn’t let me touch him, not yet, but now something hard and unwilling to be ignored is pressing into my backside.

All it will take is slowly slipping my hand down—

Jaromir groans, engulfing my roaming hand with his own. He brings it up to his mouth, threading our fingers and pressing kisses to my knuckles that feel anything but chaste.

“Morning.” His voice is a rough, thick sound that fills me with heat.

“You’re interrupting my search.”

“Am I? Perhaps your wandering hands should stay to themselves.”

I pull, but he keeps his grip firm. “You’re one to talk about wandering hands.”

“Mm,” he says, rubbing his thumb against my wrist. “I could spend every night touching you. Even if it means that when I try to sleep, you keep me awake with your incessant chattering while you dream.”

“Excuse me, I do not chatter.”

“You do.” He rakes his teeth against my hand, sparking tingles in his wake. “And you even sing.”

Now I know he’s making that up. I glare at him, and he laughs, pulling me to sit astride him. I’m still fully clothed—the bastard insisted on it—but I circle my hips, reveling in the sound it pulls from his chest.

“Syl… I’m too tired for self-restraint.”

“I care very little for your restraint.” I press down harder, and he hisses.

“Not so hard. I haven’t pissed yet.”

I laugh and mentally debate pressing down even harder on him… but I have no interest in emptying his bladder all over me.

“Have it your way. But the next time you invite a lady to share your tent, perhaps you should make your expectations and boundaries clearer.” Something about my voice must give him pause, because as soon as I roll off him, he bundles me against him, wrapping his thick arms around me and pressing my back to his chest.

“Just wait until we aren’t three steps away from the others. I won’t let you leave my bed the entire time we’re in Stoneridge.”

I grin, ducking my burning face into the bedroll. “You don’t have to do that. Last night was… I don’t expect you to do more than you’re comfortable with.”

I don’t know why I’m voicing this aloud. But so far, he only seems keen to touch me, and what if there’s something wrong with me? I hadn’t let my mind wander to the thought that he might be repulsed by my being an elf. Anatomically, elves weren’t so different from humans. Besides the ears and predisposition for smaller builds, there is no great discrepancy. But elven blood is enough to earn disgust and maltreatment in some regions of the world. Jaromir has never given me reason to believe he’d fall into that category, but if the thought of bedding an elf made him uneasy…

“If I wasn’t what you thought I might be, that’s all right. I’d hate for you to feel obligated to pursue a physical relationship with me simply because I made myself available. If you have clear preferences I don’t fit, you shouldn’t feel that you have to use your body to make me happy. I was perfectly fine having no intimate touch. I mean, if I had to label the span of time since my last encounter, I’d say it lands somewhere in the realm between one to two years. Three to four years. Fine it was four years. Five years. It’s been five years. Let’s add it to the ballad—”

Jaromir yanks me to face him. His glower has returned, and where I once thought it obnoxious and rude, now I’m stunned into silence as more of that liquid heat unfurls within me.

“Stop,” he says, his eyes narrowing, “You are perfect. Not because you’re available or out of obligation. I’m only halting our progress because I don’t want to stop once we start unless you want to. That’s why not here, not in camp. Because once I bury my face between these thighs”—he runs a hand down my leg, and I gasp—“I’m not coming up for air until you tell me to stop.”

My head spins, and I think my blood is rushing to the wrong places. If I were upright, I’d likely keel over. But if he thinks he can scandalize me into silence…

“That is… wildly lewd. You’re a bit of a lecher, aren’t you?”

Jaromir laughs and tips my chin to press his lips to mine. I sink into the kiss, gently rolling him onto his back so I can climb over him once more.

He lets out a grunt and lifts me off him. “I wasn’t jesting. I need to piss.” He hurries out of the tent, and I watch him go, admiring the view.

I can wait for Stoneridge for us to pursue this any further. Three days isn’t so long.

Three days is an entire century.

I’m certain three days is the longest unit of measurement I’ve ever encountered. We don’t even share a horse anymore, since we stole two of the mercenaries’ horses, but I feel Jaromir’s eyes on me, and whenever I turn in my saddle to glance his way, the heat I find in his stare is impossible to bear.

It can’t be done. I shall surely perish.

I steal another glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, there he is watching me with a shameless thoroughness in his assessment. Jaromir’s mouth curves in a suggestive smile as if he knows what I’m thinking, the smug bastard. I turn back, adjust my hat, and ride without giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affects me.

Maybe one more look, just to be sure he sees how much he doesn’t affect me.

Jaromir meets my gaze with a heated promise in his dark eyes, and I swear I’m about to fall off my horse. What was the horse’s name? Turnip? I’m about to fall off Turnip.

“We should make camp here,” Cadoc calls back, unaware that I’m slowly melting into a puddle on poor Turnip. “We can make up the time tomorrow, if you’re feeling up for training.” He angles his head in Neith’s direction, and she responds with a short nod.

“I’m up for it,” I say, because stopping now means I’m that much closer to getting Jaromir alone, even if we can’t get naked. But something to dull the ache.

“Ye say that now,” Neith says with a grin, “but today we’re running endurance drills.”

I slide off Turnip and only sort of land wrong, nearly falling. “What are endurance drills?”

Cadoc laughs, shaking his head and blatantly refusing to answer my question. Jaromir slips by me, gently taking the reins from my hand.

“A crucial facet o’ training.” Neith starts unpacking her gear and waves me over. She hands me her waterskin. “Drink up. Ye’re going t’need it.”

I have a very bad feeling about endurance drills.

My instincts are sharp as ever. This is a new pit of eternal torment.

A stabbing sensation lights up my side, and I stagger the remaining steps back to camp. Neith jogs behind me, not because I was faster but because she’s been circling me as she corrals me on foot through the forest. Running. A vile punishment I’ve done nothing to deserve.

She passes me with ease, pulling her waterskin out and handing it to me wordlessly. I gulp it down, precious water spilling over my chin and down my tunic. There’s a twinge in my lungs, one I answer with a barking cough.

Panting, I glance over at Neith to find she doesn’t even have a bead of sweat, and her breathing is even and measured.

I’ll take that to mean she is terribly intimidated by my stamina and thus hiding her exertion.

“Ye all right?” she asks. Even her voice is calm and steady.

“I’m fine,” I wheeze. “How are you?”

Her brow lifts as her mouth twitches. “Are ye up for some sparring?"

“Never. I plan to sleep for a few decades as if I command immortality like the ancient elves of old.”

She says nothing, allowing me to exhaust myself in my half-hearted tirade.

I limp my way over to sit by the circle of stones that will house our fire. I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed by my lack of physical endurance. There was once a time I ran through the forests of Smarighad, leaping atop overgrown roots blanketed by moss without pausing for breath—but that was long ago. I left that life on the other side of the ocean.

I take another sip of water, slower this time. My breathing is almost normal again, just my heart still bludgeons in my chest. I should find a river to dunk in. My hair’s been tied back with a leather strap but the back of my neck still drips with sweat, as does my brow. And my arse.

Neith watches me with a wary expression. “We needn't if ye’re too winded, but there is value in learning t’find strength when there’s none left. It’s often then, when we need it most.”

That’s a clever manipulation if I’ve ever heard one, but she’s right. I stand, emitting an embarrassing groan. “Fine, let’s have at it then. But I’m keeping that line. It’s a good one.”

Neith beams at me, and I think it might be the brightest smile I’ve seen on her face since before Aeron’s passing. She hands me my short sword and a small dagger. “Put this in yer boot. I don’t want ye t’rely on it. I want you t’ken it’s always there as a last resort.”

I examine the small blade. It’s a simple piece, handle carved from wood. Closing my fingers around it, I like the way it feels in my hand. “But this would be so much easier to wield.”

“Easier to wield at dangerously close range.” She points the tip of her sword in my direction. “Yer job is t’stay out of range.”

I nod, tucking the dagger into my boot and swinging the short sword to ready my already sore arms. “First to bleed?”

“First t’bleed.”

Neith advances, slower than I know her capable, but it’s still a shock when our blades clash. The force of the blow reverberates up my arm. “Follow th’series,” she says, before twisting her sword free.

We fall into the familiar rhythm like a choreographed dance. I meet each strike—because she lets me—and I deflect each blow.

Finally, she nods her approval. “Good. Now turn th’blade.”

“What?” I barely have time to react when she’s striking once more, harder, faster. My heart leaps into my throat with each pass of her sword.

“Turn th’blade,” she repeats. “For every strike, I want ye t’turn me away and force me on th’defensive.”

My body is drenched with sweat, my head pounds, and the muscles in my arms are cramping. “I… can’t,” I say through gritted teeth.

She pushes even harder. “Ye’ve learned th’movements. Now adapt t’meet my strike. Strike me for once!”

I can’t tell if she’s angry, and my stomach burns. I catch the next strike before she lands a cut to my thigh, and I spin her sword away, launching to slice her arm—

But she’s much too fast, and catches my sword before nicking her blade against the side of my neck. A small sting, and when I touch two fingers to the spot, they come away bloodied. Between labored breaths, I smile. “Goddess, Neith. You deserve your own ballad.”

Neith snorts, sheathing her blade and clapping me on the back. “Ye’re getting stronger, Syl. Perhaps one day ye might draw blood first, aye?”

“We both know you allowed me to last as long as I did,” I say, dabbing my hand against my neck. It’s a shallow cut, but I don’t wish to stain this tunic.

“Even still. Ye’re learning.”

I can’t argue with that. But I can call it quits for the evening. I’ve done my best and now I’ve earned a few comforts. Namely, a dunk in the river and a hot meal in my belly.

“I see you survived.” Jaromir’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and its low timbre is enough to turn my admittedly melted state into that much more of a liquid.

The entire expanse of his well-formed chest and abdomen is on display. Some of his dark hair has fallen loose from the knot he ties it in, framing his severe yet handsome face. Dewy sweat clings to every hardened edge of muscle, and a thin trail of dark hair leads down into his low slung trousers. My mouth goes dry, and I brazenly drink in every inch of him with ravenous eyes. Goddess, what does he do to achieve this form? I’ve never seen him train his muscles with the care and attention his physique implies. Unless he does so in secret.

I still haven’t spoken, and the look on his face is positively smug with a familiar heat in his eyes. His smirk holds both a challenge and an appreciation for my attention.

“Why are you sweaty?”

He mops the back of his neck with a rag before yanking on a loose white tunic. “I figured if you were suffering Neith’s drills, it was only fair I completed my own training.” An uncertain smile returns to his face, and something about it is so endearing. His gaze travels over my face before dipping lower—to my neck. His eyes harden. “First to bleed?”

“Ah, yes. I lost valiantly.”

“On the neck, Neith?” His words are sharp, and he glares in her direction. She merely shrugs, continuing her task of draining and cleaning the quails Cadoc hunted for dinner.

“Cadoc?” Jaromir calls out. “Assistance?”

Cadoc strides over, examining the minor cut. “I barely see it,” he says, squinting.

“Any open wound can get infected.”

“Open wound? Oh, for the love of—” Cadoc cuts himself off, rolling his eyes and stalking off to his tent. When he returns, he’s holding a salve in his palm. With one finger, he gingerly rubs it against the soreness on my neck. The smile he gives me is warm but amused. “There, satisfied?”

Jaromir nods as if Cadoc isn’t using sarcasm, and his face relaxes. He demanded Cadoc treat the wound? The tiny, insignificant little thing that, well, it did bleed but it wasn’t terrible.

That’s… surprisingly sweet.

“You seem to know a great deal about Neith’s style of training. From personal experience?”

“Yes. I was cocky and arrogant when I first met her.” Jaromir leads us to sit by the fire. “She put me in my place.”

Neith flashes him a knowing smile. “That I did. He stumbled through th’drills, learning that strength doesn’t equate t’speed. Syl here kept better pace than ye did your first run with me.”

“Did she now?” Jaromir studies me with blatant admiration, and my already heated cheeks burn even hotter.

“Well, it sounds like it wasn’t exactly stiff competition if you were as bad as Neith claims. Obviously, I’m far lighter than you, so your own bodyweight would have served as an anchor, dragging you down. Although, your strength would counter that, so perhaps we are on even footing where that is concerned. And let us not forget, this is still my first venture in quite some time, and as such, it takes a certain level of acclimation before one feels accustomed to the ‘wear-and-tear’ of life on the road. But perhaps your pride was your greatest downfall, and thus your heaviest accoutrement to carry.”

Jaromir is still staring at me with that warmth in his eyes. “All in one breath. Your lung capacity is impressive.”

I can’t help but grin, all notions of embarrassment vanishing. “Wait ’til I really get going.”

His gaze darkens, and his smile turns predatory. “I eagerly await anything you would show me.”

There’s another challenge—an invitation that I wouldn’t have thought he’d extend, not yet anyway. We’re still two days off from Stoneridge.

I clear my throat. “I should go wash up.” It’s my responding challenge, my counteroffer, and I don’t dare breathe while I await his answer.

Jaromir’s stare never wavers from mine. He wets his lips, and I swear I’ll combust if he makes me wait any longer.

“We need firewood.” Cadoc’s cheerful voice breaks the tension filled moment. “So when you come back, you can warm up.”

Jaromir wears a strange expression. Almost… calculating.

“I already split some wood we could use, but that’s a good point,” he says, glancing at me. “I’ll take you to the river. I’ll give you privacy while I fetch some kindling.”

The sound of rushing water greets me just before the river comes into view. It’s a shallow stream, burbling as it rushes over large rocks. The trees thin, and the ground is claimed by soft, spongy moss. The sun sits lower now, painting the riverbank with pink and orange light. The sweat has dried against my skin, leaving a filmy residue that’s part dirt. I had wondered why we didn’t camp closer to our water source, but now I recognize the gift of privacy.

I approach the riverbank and shiver in anticipation, yanking my boots off then moving to my trousers and tunic. When I stand bare in the last of the day’s light, I slowly sink into the water. Welkin’s grace! Freezing, indeed. My skin instantly pebbles, and I quickly scrub my body with the soap Kingsley made me. Dunking my head beneath the surface, I emerge and squeeze the excess water from my hair, before climbing back out. Shivering, I yank my smallclothes and breastband over my wet skin. Footsteps approach, the snap of a twig alerting me. I turn my back to the river, keeping my vulnerable side hidden, and tug my tunic over my head. When I’m dressed, I lift my gaze.

Jaromir leans against a tree, arms crossed, with that damnable assessing stare.

I refuse to be intimidated by that gaze anymore. Especially knowing the effect I have on him. I crook my finger at him.

He grins and approaches. Once he is towering over me, he hesitates. An adorable flush rises on his cheeks, and I’m at a loss for why. We’ve already crossed the line of intimacy once; what does he have to feel bashful over?

He rubs the back of his neck, while the other hand procures something from pocket.

“Here.” Jaromir shoves something soft and slightly wet into my palm, his eyes fixed over my shoulder. I open my hand to find a small yellow flower.

He picked me a buttercup. Welkin above, he picked my favorite flower.

I clear my throat and smooth out the crumpled buttercup’s delicate petals. “It’s beautiful.”

“You mentioned liking these…” Jaromir runs a hand over his jaw, and the rough scrape of bristles against his palm punctuates his words.

“I did. Even crushed as it is, the poor thing, it’s my favorite.”

“Ah. Sorry. I—”

I reach up on tiptoes to silence his apology with a kiss. The tension in his body melts away with my touch, and his arms come around me, pressing me closer. “Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth, before deepening the kiss.

His hands skim down my back, gripping my hips. When I gently bite his lip, he makes a rough sound and runs his knuckles along the skin above my trousers.

“May I?” He speaks this as a question, but it doesn’t feel like one. It feels like a confession, and I can’t bring myself to respond. I nod, knowing I need whatever he’s willing to give, and I don’t care how pathetic that makes me.

He angles me to sit beside the river, gently pushing me to lie flat on my back. Making quick work of my laces, he yanks my pants and smallclothes down. I gasp, somehow surprised by how suddenly I’m exposed. My skin is still damp and cool to the touch, but that’s not why I shiver. He tugs my feet free of my clothes.

Last time, the dark covered most of me from his thorough stare. But now there’s nowhere to hide.

Jaromir groans. “Let me look at you.”

His hands run from my ankles up to my thighs, gently tugging them apart. I squirm beneath his rapt attention, and heat spreads across my skin. He leans over me, burying his face against my neck. The feel of his beard against my skin makes me shiver, and his mouth skims my pulse point.

“You smell so fucking good.”

Reminder to oneself: Send Kingsley a muffin basket in thanks for his black currant soap.

Jaromir’s lips scrape against my jaw, slowly teasing their way to my mouth. The first touch of his lips to mine, and my back arches beneath him. His fingers find that aching place between my legs, his touch gentle but certain, and my response is strangled in my throat. I crush my flower in my fist, hoping it survives? hoping I survive his merciless teasing.

“You’re perfect , Syl. Everything about you commands me.” He works his way down, over my damp clothing, and brings his face, goddess his mouth , a hair’s breadth from where his fingers are. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”

A needy desperate noise leaves my chest, and oh, his tongue is there— there— and he groans.

“I knew you’d taste sweet.” He seals his mouth over me, working his lips, his tongue in earnest, and I swear, I see stars. My breath stutters as he devours me like a man starved. My skin feels stretched over my body, and a tingling sensation starts low in my belly. He brings my thighs over his shoulders, and suddenly his tongue is hitting deeper. My hands fist in his hair, and he hums against me, his eyes finding mine and holding me arrested at the sight.

His gaze is a smoldering blaze of want, his mouth moving with languor, almost decadent in his pursuit. As if he’s actually enjoying this. His hand snakes down to reach something, and oh goddess, he’s adjusting himself.

I let the next noise, an indulgent little moan, leave my lips with abandon. Smug approval shines in his eyes, and he doubles down on his efforts. Licking, tasting, savoring.

My stomach flutters, and my vision blurs just as something inside me stretches taut—before it breaks in waves of liquid clenching pleasure. He groans and lazily snakes his tongue against me until I finally push his head away. My thighs tremble, and when I catch sight of his glistening mouth and beard, another clench pulses through me.

His gaze is half-lidded, eyes dazed and unfocused.

Something about that, about me reducing him to this, it makes me surge forward and claim his mouth, and I taste myself on his lips. I claw at his tunic, yanking him atop me.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against me, allowing me to taste every bit of him, every bit of me. “I was only going to touch you, but I couldn’t stop.”

“Good”—I pant against his mouth—“don’t stop.”

He cups the back of my neck, while his other hand reaches down to his laces. I want to weep with relief at the motion. I smile against his mouth, his chest pressing against my damp tunic. I need to feel his skin against mine. I need—

A low humming sound carries through the trees. A hum punctuated by a click-click . Jaromir freezes, tensing in my arms.

Two beats pass, and the humming grows louder.

He yanks my smallclothes and pants back in place, passing me my boots with a frantic edge to his movements. I hurry to dress, still not quite understanding what we’re hearing, but recognizing his urgency.

Jaromir grabs his sword belt I hadn’t noticed he’d unbuckled from his waist and yanks his sword free. “Run back to camp.”

“Obviously there’s danger. I’m not running away and leaving you—”

“Without the added danger of worrying over you. Yes, you are. Send Neith or Cadoc if you can. Not both. I want someone with you.”

“Just come with me.” The humming is growing louder, and the clicking now sounds like the snapping of jaws. “Come back to camp with me.”

“I can’t,” he snarls. “If they’ve caught our scent, I’m not leading them there.”

That’s ridiculous. “All of us against whatever you’re hearing is better odds than—”

“Syl, just go!”

His bellow echoes through the trees, and I flinch. But before I can either argue or acquiesce, a swarm of creatures appear in the not-so-distant clearing. Dozens of monsters the size of ponies. Bile rises in my throat as terror churns in my gut.

They move like giant spiders, but their bodies are armored with a sort of bluish-black shell that shines like a black moonstone. Their tails are long and spiked, flicking with deadly intent.

Click-click. Their pincers snap in a rhythmic threat.

My head spins, and I nearly lose my footing.

Jaromir raises his sword and moves to stand in front of me.

“Please”—his voice is ragged—“run. I can’t hold them off forever.”

I take an uncertain step back, and then another, heart fracturing with the action. I can’t leave him. I can’t stay. I’ll only get in the way and get him hurt or killed. But I can’t abandon him, he doesn’t stand a chance against these creatures on his own. Camp isn’t far, but it’s too far to promise his survival; I’ll never make it there and back in time.

I can’t leave. I can’t stay. I can’t. I can’t.

My vision blurs with unshed tears as I turn and run.