Page 31 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

I make an incredulous sound. “Why should you hesitate before claiming a human sorceress as your fucking life-mate? Can’t you think of a few reasons? Because I can.”

“I am partly human as well.”

“It’s not simply a matter of species .” My heart is racing. I’m at war within myself, torn between the truth of the emotion that fueled my spell and the very real panic I feel at being rushed into a permanent bond with a dragon.

I swallow hard, trying to stay halfway composed. “You and I have amused each other, I won’t deny that. You’re excellent fun, really. But as for anything permanent between us… I’m not ready for it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he says, with a dark satisfaction. “We’re already bound.”

Panicked anger lurches in my chest, spurring my heartbeat.

Bound . Bound means trapped.

“Your Prince promised I could go home once I performed the spell,” I remind him.

“The spell he wanted,” Ashvelon clarifies. “That was the initial bargain. You did not perform the spell he requested, so that assurance no longer applies.”

“So you’ll keep me here, as your prisoner?”

“For now, for your safety, yes.”

He can’t keep me here. If I want to escape, I can make it happen. It will take days to fully recover my energy, but when I do, I can work a spell that will force Ashvelon to take me back to the mainland. I can get myself out of here, with or without his permission.

The magic I’m capable of could set me free. But in freeing myself, I’d be abandoning the other captives on Ouroskelle.

Ashvelon lowers his head, bringing his ice-blue gaze to my level, looking deep into my eyes. “Do you really wish to leave?”

“Do you care?” I vent a disdainful laugh. “You seem to think you’re going to get something out of this bond, but you won’t. I will not fuck you again, not now, and not during the mating frenzy. There will be no half-dragon children spawned between us.”

A faint despair flashes through his eyes, but he arches his neck, proud and determined. “I can live with that. ”

“I won’t perform any more spells for your kind, unless it’s something that I believe is good and necessary.”

“Very well.”

He’s so fucking calm. It’s infuriating. “Do you understand me, you big walking rock? You won’t get any satisfaction from being my life-mate. No sex, no spells. Nothing.”

“And yet I will still have everything,” he replies. “Because I will have you .”

I stare at him. I truly do not comprehend why he looks so content. There’s a quiet joy in those glowing blue eyes of his, peace in the lines of his neck and shoulders, pride in the set of his wings.

“You do not believe that I can be happy with just you .” His words are a statement, not a question.

I wet my lips and glance around, as if some explanation or solution will simply appear out of thin air. “I don’t believe it, no.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to imagine that your voice, your thoughts, and your presence are enough for me?”

I release a sharp laugh, broken in the middle. “It has been a long time… a very, very long time… since anyone wanted me for something besides my magic or my body. And yet here on Ouroskelle it has happened twice in one day.”

“You are more than your magic,” Ashvelon says. “More than your beauty.”

My nose prickles and tears pool in my eyes. “Shit, you’re going to make me cry. How dare you, really?”

His chuckle reverberates through the cave, and his long neck glides toward me.

I lay my hand over his blunt snout, my palm against the gray scales.

He sighs as if my touch is the one thing he has craved all day, and my stomach thrills in response.

Emotion wells up inside me—too much of it, all at once, overwhelming my tenuous grip on my composure.

Confusion surges in my soul, churned together with frustration, uncertainty, anxiety, and pain.

“I need a drink,” I mutter, dropping my hand.

I’m about to step away, but he says urgently, “Wait.”

“Why?”

“Feel it before you drown it in wine. Just for a moment, be with me. Please.”

“It hurts, though,” I whisper.

“I know. Suffer it for a few minutes, and it will become easier to bear.”

Part of me wants to defy him. But it’s not a demand, after all—it’s a gentle plea, one I can’t resist.

I stand before him, my arms framing his great dragon face, his nose against my chest. There, holding onto him, I hurt , openly and without defense.

I hurt so badly that more tears slip from my eyes, racing down my cheeks.

I hurt until I realize that this pain is only one aspect of what I feel.

The rest is a vast, sweet violence, a storm of hopeful craving centered on him.

The icy burn of his gaze holds mine, and his jaws move between the frame of my arms as he speaks.

“Darling, you have my heart, my mind, and my body, whatever form it may take. I am yours utterly. Yours until the day my flesh dissipates and only my skeleton is left, and even then, my bones will tremble for the touch of your hand.”

“That’s precious,” I manage through the tightness in my throat. “But dragon lifespans are longer than those of humans, so if you live to the full extent of your years, I won’t be around to fondle your bones.”

He laughs again, deeper and fuller this time. “I was trying to be poetic. I’m no good at it, apparently.”

“Few people are. And most human poets don’t tend to promise their trembling skeletons to their loved ones.”

“Loved ones,” he says softly. “I like that. You are indeed a loved one of mine. The loved one. ”

“Hush, pet,” I chide him, kissing his nose, trying to hold back the stream of tears. “You’ll break me, I swear.”

“I think you need to break a little. You haven’t broken in a long time. It might be a relief to sit with me and weep.”

I want to protest that I don’t cry like that. I don’t break down. I remain strong, not for anyone else, but for myself. I bite my lip, afraid that if I speak, I’ll start sobbing.

“Being vulnerable to you is the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced,” he says. “I feel refreshed. I feel like I could do anything. I only want the same for you.”

He’s so fucking good to me that I almost hate him for it, because I know myself, and I know I can never be that sweet to him. Lucky for me, he’s not asking for sweetness. He’s asking for brokenness.

Broken, I can do.

“You want me to cry?” I manage through clenched teeth. “Fine. I’ll cry.”