Page 33 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Twenty-Two

Rosomon

M y door opens and I’m startled awake.

Is it morn? How long did I sleep? I must have fallen the moment I sank under the covers.

Blinking my eyes, I pull the feather quilt higher up my chest. “Who’s there?” My mind flashes to Tynan. Has he come to carry out his threat?

“Hush, ma chérie.” Saxon’s powerful shape comes into focus, silhouetted in the faint light from the courtyard. He’s carrying a candle in a small holder, and his features flicker, reflecting the light as he sets it down atop the small table in front of my fireplace.

My heart is thumping so loudly, I’m sure he must hear it. The shock and fear of my door opening wears off, and in its place, hope and desire build. Saxon has changed his mind. He couldn’t let a single night pass without being inside me.

“Come,” he says softly. “I have something for you.”

Sliding out of the bed, I pad across the room toward him. The dying embers cast golden light that makes him seem almost unreal—too good to be true. But as I cross from one rug to the other, the cold flagstones against my bare feet ground me, reassuring me this isn’t a dream.

Longing to feel his hands on my breasts again, I wish I’d removed my chest bindings before going to bed, but at least this thin night dress will give his fingers and rod quick access to my cleft, already slick with anticipation.

“Sit.” He drops into one of the two wooden chairs by the table.

I slide onto his lap.

The second I land, he lifts me off him and drops me onto the chair he was on, taking the other.

His show of force erases my disappointment and frustration.

My chest heaves and my insides pulse. My independent nature hates how his superior size and strength can so easily overpower me, but a darker part of me loves it, and I flash back to how fluidly he changed our positions last night, more than once moving me like a toy doll and arranging me so he could impale me as he desired.

“I’m not here for sex.” Saxon’s voice sounds full of sand.

“Then why are you here?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“As I said—” he pats a small bundle he set on the table “—I have some things for you.” He leans toward me. “But first I want to make one final appeal.”

“Yes, fine. You can drill me.” Tugging up my nightdress, I spread my legs on the chair.

He snorts, clearly trying to choke back a laugh. “Princess, I’m hoping you’ve come to your senses.”

I straighten my shoulders. “I’m going to be a dragon rider.” Or die trying. I lift my chin, but then quickly cast my eyes down. Saxon holds all the power here in more ways than one. My determination means nothing.

“Please,” I say softly. “At least let me try.”

“You won’t survive your first day.” His voice is gruff. “Even if your disguise holds, the training is far too grueling for a girl.” His voice breaks slightly. He’s pleading with me.

Whether or not he’s right, he believes I could die tomorrow. But determination, like a stone in my belly, knows that I won’t. Or at least I’m willing to take that chance to get what I want.

I raise my gaze, hoping my resolve shows in my eyes, because I have nothing to say that I haven’t already voiced.

“Fine.” He leans back in his chair. “Choose death, if you must.”

I glance at the package on the table. “What did you bring me?” I’ve rarely received gifts, not even on the Feast of Othrix. Years ago, I made small tokens for my brothers and father to celebrate the day we celebrate the Gifts from Othrix, but never received a thing in return.

Saxon unties the cloth package and pulls out what looks like a corset.

I frown. I only ever wore corsets for the most formal occasions—only when Nurse and Dresser forced me. Even if Saxon reveals my sex, I won’t wear that thing here. “Why did you bring that?” I ask angrily.

“To replace those rags around your chest.” He slides the garment across the table. “I borrowed it from one of the courtesans. It’s a style meant to be worn under a bosom, so that your paps bounce above it. But I believe that if you position it higher, and tighten the ties?—”

“Oh!” A smile washes through my entire being.

“Thank you.” He’s right. It will squish down my bosom, and if I fasten the ties in front, I should be able to tighten it without a dresser.

I hug the corset to my chest. Even if it’s uncomfortable, it will be much easier to don and remove than the torn cloth I’m using now.

“And you should also take this.” He pushes a small tin box toward me.

“What is that?”

“Courtesan’s tea.”

Hope and anticipation rise again. He was only threatening to withhold his rod, hoping to manipulate me into backing down. Since that didn’t work, he wants me protected. “Thank you. I don’t want your seed to take root when?—”

Shaking his head, he stands. “No, Rosomon. I told you. Sex can’t happen between us. It’s forbidden.”

“Forbidden by whom?” Standing slowly, I move toward him.

“By the rules of camp, by my sacred oaths. By the klericks. By Othrix.”

“How would the klericks find out?” I swipe my tongue over my lips, shocked at how they are again buzzing with the memory of his kisses, even though there’s been a new moonrise since I last felt their touch.

“Rosomon.” Saxon swallows hard, his apple of Othrix bobbing. “I mean, Rosshall .”

I step closer, and to my relief he doesn’t move. He’s so close to me now, his heat penetrates my skin, warming me against the cool air of my bed chamber, now the fire has died down to embers. Under my bindings, my nipples ache, mirroring the rising ache between my legs.

His pupils widen as he looks down upon me. He wants this too. I’m sure of it.

“Why bring me the tea, if you don’t plan to drill me?” I slide my hand onto his chest.

He sucks in a ragged breath, like my touch is scalding, but he does nothing to remove it.

“It’s to prevent your courses.” His chest rises under my light touch. “If you drink this tea every night, it should prevent your courses from coming. Depending on your current moon cycle, you may experience one final round of bleeding, but after that?—”

“Oh.” Emotions clash inside me. I’d hoped the tea was a sign that he meant to break his oath, but I’m grateful that he’s thought of this obstacle to my continued disguise.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “That was thoughtful.” And an indication that he means to keep my sex a secret.

Clearing his throat, he steps back, and my hand drops between us.

“I’ll leave you now. You need sleep.”

My heart starts to race and my mind searches for a way to keep him here longer. To talk him into having sex with me, to even just hold me or kiss me. All things I know that he wants, even if he won’t admit it.

My gaze falls to the corset. “Before you go.” I look down, as if defeated. “Can you help me remove my chest binding? I can’t reach the knot, and I’d like to see if this corset fits.” I look up toward him, but he keeps his gaze above mine.

“I don’t want to be rushed in the morning.” I continue my plea. “Treacher said we’d be exiled, if we were tardy.”

“I’m sure you can manage?—”

Quickly, I lift off my night shirt, leaving me nude, save for the bindings.

His eyes flare with obvious desire.

“Please,” I say. “It’s difficult to untie this knot on my own.”

“Oh, for Othrix’s sake.” His voice is tight. “Cover yourself.”

I pick up the night dress and hold it across my hips with one hand, shielding my sex and the tops of my thighs.

Turning, I lift my other arm, so the knot in my bindings is facing him.

As his hands draw near, my heart thumps, trying to leap out of my chest, but I fight to control my breathing, to hide my reactions and demonstrate patience.

Saxon needs to make the next move. I want him to be the one to break his oath.

He grunts but then steps closer and starts working on the knot. These bindings would have been very difficult for me to remove on my own, and I’m glad I asked for his help, even if it fails to yield my desired outcome.

Moving closer, I let my hip slide against him.

He grunts as he backs away. Then he bends to use his teeth on the knot. The heat of his breath warms my body and sends more waves of need tracing through me.

The knot yields, his hands drop, and he backs away a few steps.

“Thank you.” I lift both hands to the bindings, and the night shirt falls to the floor as I quickly unwind the cloth around me.

My gaze drops to his breeches. At the sight of the very obvious bulge there, my mouth turns dry, and my eyes widen.

“Do you really believe I might die tomorrow?” I ask softly, not looking at him as I unwind the bindings.

“Maybe not tomorrow.” His voice is strangled. “But candidate training is grueling. Many die, even more desert camp or turn recreant, well before they come close to a dragon.”

“What does recreant mean?”

“Some candidates are accepted as an Oblate of Othrix and continue to serve here at camp, while completing their religious training.”

I nod. That is something I’d never do. And I certainly won’t desert.

His warnings about the challenges I face are daunting, but they don’t scare me enough to back down. Everyone underestimates me, and I’ve never been more determined to prove I can train with the rest of the candidates, even if I might not survive.

“If I’m going to die.” Turning to meet his gaze, I find a mixture of pain and need there. “Can’t we… Can we have sex one last time? Please?” I let the unwound bindings fall to the floor. “I don’t want to die with regrets.”

Saxon looks down. His body shifts, and I can only imagine that his rod is uncomfortable, constrained under those tight breeches while so stiff.

“Just one final time,” I say softly. “The last time we…I didn’t know it would be my last time— ever .”

He stares at me, and the creases on his forehead reveal his thoughts and desires, as clearly as the bulge pressing out from his breeches.