Page 60 of The Dragon Warlord

I spend time with each bit of his flesh, sewing over wounds with magic. I pull from the ether but have access to the field around my heart to amplify my work so that it’s faster and steadier. Besides the healing work, the skin-to-skin touches soothe us after a long day of dealing with that demon.

“Ah, fuck that hurts.” He hisses.

“I’m sorry, Warlord.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ll live.” He laughs. “It’s not that bad. I’m tired is all.”

“Please say you’ll have some time to sleep.”

“I’ll have some time to sleep after we get you washed up.”

I don’t want to know what was in that mud I slathered on myself. It does stink to high heaven and reminds me too much of a Wasteland beast.

Often, we’ll wash in whatever lake or stream we’re near, but for this mission, we’ve been camped in this area long enough to have a washing tent set up. This is essentially a hunt, so we have a base camp, a small city of tents, and we head out into the area each day to find and capture our prey.

As we walk toward the tent, dragons give their nod of deference to the Warlord before moving out of his way. He’s in a mood. Aside from wanting this hunt to be over and getting some sleep, he’s angry that his bond with the dragon lord has decided to be fickle.

It began with bouts of nausea and then headaches. Dragons aren’t supposed to get nausea and headaches.

While I don’t want him to feel terrible, it’s worked in my favor. He’s been distracted, which makes it easier to hide my plight. Hiding my distress from the Warlord is, of course, forbidden, but this is the one thing I have to keep a secret even though it may kill me. I would never hide something from Tristan, except this. He’s not ready and it will tear him apart. I’ve convinced myself that I’ll get through this affliction or at least learn to live with it. That it will only be something I have to hide for a short while. Our bond is constantly up and down with its demands, forcing us to do a myriad of things to appease it.

I suspect that this is the one secret he’d want me to keep. He must smell my arousal at times. He must detect hints of other things in my emotions. He’s either denying reality or delusional. I’m convinced it’s the former and that he’s denying what he feels with his own senses so well that he believes the fiction he’s been telling himself.

“My omega wishes a bath,” he says to the man outside the tent.

“Of course, Warlord. Allow me a moment to get everyone out.”

“Whoever is washing may finish up, but if they could hurry along.”

A little guilt sets in. For me to use the bathing tent, no one else can be inside. There is usually a long lineup outside by the time I’m done.

Fifteen minutes later, the tent is empty. A large basin filled with delightfully hot water has been left for me along with soap, a sponge, and a fluffy towel. A similar setup has been left for the Warlord even though he didn’t request it.

“I suppose I stink to high heavens as well,” he says, eyeing the items left for him. “Must be a gentle hint.”

He removes his jacket and I realize he’s going to strip naked before me. Sweet Drakon. On any other day, it wouldn’t matter. We live in close quarters. We change in front of each other all the time. We often bathe at the same time on hunts and other missions. It doesn’t mean anything.

Today, all my mind is thinking about is sex. I don’t care how disgusting he thinks he is, I’d lick him clean if he wanted.

Turning away, I begin stripping out of my own clothes, shedding my scale-armored jacket first. As quickly as I can, I get into the long wooden basin without peeking at the Warlord until I hear the telltale splashes that say he’s gotten into the water. He’s not even paying attention to me for once. His eyes are closed and he’s enjoying the heat.

I try to do the same. Closing my eyes, I let the warmth seep into my bones. Exhaustion finally sets in. I could sleep for a million years.

“Today is my anniversary,” he says, and I jump at the low timbre of his voice suddenly cutting through the quiet. “Um, the first time.”

“To Corrik?”

“Yes. We married in the spring. Even though it was annulled after his assumed death, I still count it. Though I wonder, will these years count? In my reality, we’ve been together all this time. In his, only a few weeks have passed.”

“You’ve lived them. They count for you, Warlord.”

“Mhm,” he grunts. “I’ve been in this life with you longer than I have them.”

His emotions are all over the place. I don’t know how to interpret that. “Are you sorry about it?”

“No. I’m simply acknowledging it. It’s a weird idea for me because when I arrived, this was the strange place. Now it’s … well, not quite my home, but it’s comfortable in some ways. I have a routine. I have a purpose. I have people whom I consider my family. I’ll never love being kept here against my will, but I’m not going to hold that against this place or the people in it.”

The tight cords around my heart loosen. Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want him to hate his dragon life. My secret wish is for him to consider The Tower another home. Father wants it to be his only home, but why does it have to be his only home? Does he have a good reason for that? Or is he simply being an overbearing alpha?