Page 43 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Twenty-Six

He wanted her to sit in his lap while she ate her dinner, but his Alashiya was shy.

She chose to sit on the opposite side of the little table, tempting him with everything she was.

There was a high flush in her cheeks. Her damp curls were beginning to dry in the warm air.

She still wore that ridiculous, sumptuous robe made of scrap, of all things, which provided him with tantalizing glimpses of the dark shadows of her nipples and the deep line of her cleavage.

Alashiya had the dazed, glowing look of a woman well-fucked, and it drove him absolutely mad.

Pain was a constant, grinding presence in the back of his mind, but he forced it away, into a tight little room where its presence could still be felt but not nearly so keenly. He refused to let it steal this moment from him.

Taevas had little appetite, so he sat back and watched as his nymph picked at the light dinner he’d cobbled together. It was the first time he’d cooked in any capacity in… fifty years, probably. The cucumbers were roughly chopped and he had a feeling he’d over-salted them, but she didn’t complain.

She appeared relaxed, even outright pleased with him, when she dipped her bread in oil and laid a thick slice of tomato — her own addition to the spread, which he made careful note of — before taking a large bite.

He’d been proud of many great things in his life.

He’d signed the Peace Charter, which ended the Great War that tore the continent apart, and he’d united the dragon clans — really united them, rather than rule them under an iron fist like Jaak had.

He’d met kings and queens, seen the world, helped cultivate mind-boggling new technology, and watched his clan flourish once more.

But when Alashiya gave him a shy, rosy-cheeked smile over her slice of bread, her nose wrinkled with pleasure and her eyes gleaming like the sun on polished cedar, he was the proudest he’d ever been.

A different kind of hunger grew in him. He thought it might’ve been at least temporarily satisfied by their interlude on the kitchen counter, but like true dragonfire, it’d only grown bigger and more destructive as it was fed.

Taevas’s tail found its way beneath the table, where it coiled possessively around her perfect ankle. He tried to offer her a nonchalant smile when she gave him a quick amused look.

Let her think it’s nothing. That it’s a cute little game, the beast in him purred. Let her think there’s a chance she’ll ever be rid of me. By the time she realizes it’s a lie, she won’t want to be free anyway.

Dragons, like many beings, had forged their most distinctive characteristics in a time of horrific strife. Taking what you want, being the kind of person who felt no compunction with stealing resources, roosts, mates, often made all the difference between being one who survived and one who didn’t.

It was deeply ingrained in them, that singularly covetous nature and decisiveness.

In the modern world, it was often deemed unacceptable — a relic of evolution that ought to be left by the wayside.

An arrogant, demanding dragon was one who endured the test of time and adversity, but not necessarily one who succeeded in the new era of the world.

Dragons had a reputation for being selfish, jealous lovers who would decide, with little input from their partners, that theirs was a permanent union.

It was instinctive as well as cultural and had resulted in a reputation that sent many prospective mates running in the opposite direction. So they course-corrected.

Modern dragons, aware of their reputation, tended to use a combination of inherent charm, humor, and carefully crafted nonchalance to make the world think they weren’t exactly as they’d always been.

It was the easiest way to get what they wanted with the least amount of resistance, and necessary to successfully cohabitate with all the different beings of the world.

And when the time was right, they could drop the mask — and snap the trap shut.

Taevas offered Alashiya a slow smile as the tip of his tail stroked the contour of her calf. “You’re beautiful, metsalill. I could watch you for hours and only ask for more.”

Catching the double meaning of his words, Alashiya ducked her head to hide the fierce blush that radiated beneath her skin. She looked terribly maidenly, like a nymph from a classical painting, so pure and unaware of the watcher as she dipped her naked body in a burbling stream.

What a change it was from the vixen who’d planted her foot on his chest and commanded him like it was her due. Looking so bashful, it wasn’t hard to believe she was a virgin.

A virgin, he thought, briefly stabbed with dismay at the thought. The concept itself meant nothing to him. There was no triumph in being her first, as he was certain he would be, but rather an upwelling of such grief, he couldn’t stand to look at it head-on.

His nymph was a deeply sensual being. He’d seen it with his own eyes. He’d felt it with his blessed, greedy fingers. To see how she’d bloomed with just the slightest bit of sunlight… It was something he’d never forget.

And yet she’d been left in isolation for so long. Why?

He’d heard her explanations — about the school boys and the rangers and the lack of choice mates around Birchdale.

But he’d sensed something deeper, darker, lingering around the edges of her life from the moment his mind came back to him.

To discover that such a creature had been locked away in isolation for so long made his protective instincts bristle.

What could compel a lush, lively creature like Alashiya to hide herself away for so long?

Despite clearly longing for it, she’d foregone finding a mate, having offspring, or keeping friends.

She lived in a crumbling house with too many empty rooms, all shut off like their occupants had simply walked off one day.

She did little more than work, day in and day out, for whatever tiny percentage of money the atelier deigned to give her.

And the wards. He couldn’t forget the wards.

His nymph lived in a wild fortress of her own making. She didn’t leave. She didn’t seek out another kind of life. She seemed to have contented herself with silence, with never finding a mate, and Taevas couldn’t think of a single reason why.

As much as it killed him, he knew all of that would have to wait. They would have plenty of time for him to unravel her mysteries — and that depended entirely on his ability to get them safely back to the ’Riik.

He waited for Alashiya’s blush to cool before he broached the subject. “My Shiya, can you drive?”

She swallowed a sip of water before she answered, “Oh, sure. I started driving when I was nine. It’s been a while, though.”

He wasn’t surprised to hear it. Many children in rural areas learned to drive country roads and across farms as soon as they could reach the pedals, but it did raise several more questions. “Do you have a car?”

“My grandfather’s old truck is in the barn, I think,” she replied, brow furrowing.

“But it stopped running in the 2000’s. Once my grandmother got sick, we couldn’t afford to fix it and Mike — Debbie’s husband — never followed through with his offer to help, so we just left to rust. Gods know what state it’s in now, especially after the roof caved in. Why?”

Taevas restrained himself from bombarding her with more questions. Reminding himself that her safety had to be the priority, he answered, “Because the safest option for us is to drive to the ’Riik, or at least as close to it as possible.”

Alashiya looked up from where she’d speared a ragged chunk of cucumber on the end of her fork. “I thought you needed a phone?”

He shook his head. “With that dragon hanging around, it’s too risky. I won’t send you out on errands that might get you hurt. It’s better if we just leave. I can find a way to contact my Wing when we’re no longer in immediate danger.”

Slowly lowering her fork, she replied, “I don’t have a working car.”

“Then we must find one,” he sighed, hating to add yet more trouble onto her plate. Taevas had already silently promised her that he would pay her back in ways she couldn’t imagine, but that didn’t make his pride smart any less everytime had to ask yet more of her.

Alashiya’s gaze lowered to the table. She didn’t respond right away, and something in her expression made the hair rise on the back of his neck. “Well… I could maybe borrow one of Debbie’s trucks, but it’d be a hard sell.”

Entirely unused to normal people saying no to him when he asked for things, Taevas frowned. “Why?”

“Because the Draakonriik is a thousand miles one way, first of all. And second, I’d have to lie and tell her I was the one taking it.” She sat back in her chair and began to make an odd, apparently unconscious motion with her right forefinger and thumb.

She’s sewing, he realized, gaze sharpening as he recognized the barely perceptible swoop and pull of an invisible needle and thread.

Protective instincts stirring, Taevas rearranged his chair so he was sitting much closer to her, his body turned toward hers so that their knees brushed.

Bracing one elbow on the dinner table, he laid his hand on the warm skin of her arm and reassured her, “It’s actually only about seven hundred miles, I think. If we’re where I think we are.”

Her arm went stiff under his. “You say that like it’s practically next door.”

“Well, isn’t it?” He rolled his gaze to the ceiling as he reassessed the distance. Assured that he was correct, he said, “Yes, it’s very close.”

Alashiya gave him a long look that he didn’t enjoy at all. It was like she’d just realized something, and whatever it was, it had completely dashed that gorgeous, post-orgasm glow he so admired. “Seven hundred miles isn’t close.”

“For a dragon it is.”

“I’m not a dragon,” she replied, pulling her arm out from under his hand.