Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I never feared he might strike. No need for armor. Amid the intimacy of the moment, only peace lay between us. A vulnerable, perilous peace that did strange things to my emotions. Rearranging, erasing, building.
He could have given the act a sensual turn, and part of me might’ve begged for it. Instead, he kept his promise. Before I knew it, my eyelids drifted closed, and the ache in my soul quieted beneath his touch. All too soon, the massage stopped.
I didn’t move, didn’t let myself look back at him, just reached behind and grabbed his wrist as if it was a lifeline. Perhaps it was. “Stay,” I whispered, raw.
He hesitated. And then he stretched out beside me, wrapping his arms around me and becoming a barrier to the world. Heat radiated off him. His scent—cedar and sun—wrapped around me, too.
I nuzzled closer, burrowing into the crooks of his body as though I belonged there. He threaded his fingers gently through my hair, kissed my temple and released a breath with no hint of frustration. Only contentment.
Finally, the dragon went quiet. Sleep claimed me with greedy hands.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I stirred and found myself tangled in Taron’s arms. Realization struck as fast as lightning in a thunderstorm, and I blinked up at the ceiling in stunned silence. I slept. With him. And lived to tell about it.
Even more shocking? So had he. Taron was just beginning to stir, disoriented but warm against me. For a moment, we merely breathed together. When I forced myself to sit up, I noticed the marks on his neck and cheek. The one left by my blood when we first met. Days ago, but also a lifetime. It glowed brighter than usual, with a subtle pulse that echoed in my bones.
I frowned. So what did that mean? And why did I want to touch the spots more than I wanted to breathe?
Not reaching out physically hurt.
Beside me, he groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “We better get up before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Regret. The word hit, a slap made of ice, waking the dragon. Burn him!
My heart thundering, I shot out of bed as if a catapult had launched me. I couldn’t stay cooped up in the palace with him. I’d cave and touch him.
“I’ll, um, return in an hour,” I called over my shoulder. “Busy day. Be ready.” I didn’t wait for a response.
A cold guestroom became my temporary sanctuary, where I scrubbed the scent of Taron from my skin, a woman possessed. I didn’t have the luxury to unravel what our accidental nap actually meant, or why I’d felt safer in his arms than I had in centuries.
Instead, I threw myself into damage control. From outside the window, I heard the snap of banners in the breeze, vendors hawking their wares and the clang of toy swords. The Firebound Festival.
The perfect distraction. If I couldn’t kill the heat between us, I could at least engross us both with a full-blown cultural spectacle. An authentic, tradition-drenched, festival-of-flames-style dragon ceremony the professor of ancient dragon lore might enjoy.
A subtle thank you? Not remotely. Effective? Hopefully.
Meanwhile, the dragon inside me grew louder. Needier. Its commands sharpened, seething just beneath my skin. I locked the beast down, again and again, one breath after another.
By the time I returned to my chambers, Taron stood dressed and calm on the surface, but tension tightened his jaw and shadows darkened his face. The much-needed rest we’d shared was wiped away.
We didn’t speak as I led him through the palace’s gilded halls and out into the open courtyard, where my people had transformed the space into a glittering homage to dragonkind. Fire braziers were lit, dancers rehearsing and a feast already beginning to sizzle. Low, sultry music drifted on the air, with drums that mimicked the quickened staccato of a dragon’s heartbeat.
“This is the Firebound Festival you discussed yesterday?” he asked, not even trying to mask his awe.
“Ja. A peek into the past.” Commander Granger had indeed tripled the number of guards. They marched here, there, everywhere, on alert.
The scent of honeycakes, emberbread and hearty cinderpot stew teased my nose. We sidestepped several children of the workers in the palace as they raced about, smiles ear to ear. Rows of brightly colored booths encircled the courtyard. A clothier, with gorgeous scarves in every color imaginable, a blacksmith hammering a trinket from molten metal and beneath an awning shaped like a dragon’s claw, worked a calligrapher.
I guided Taron beyond a display of ceremonial armor, toward a row of people dressed as dragon champions and villains throughout the ages, each person calling out battle facts whenever we paused before them.
Taron tilted his head, studying a particularly gruesome weapon used by the shifter king who ruled before Lorik. “I have this,” he said. “The real one.”