Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (17 page)

She slapped his hand away with a strength borne of fury. "It is not the dragon that is evil. It is your prock. A plague upon it." And with that, she stomped away.

Kiril stared at her retreating form, the ashes of his plan lost upstairs along with the dirty bathwater and torn sheet. She was right. He knew it, and yet his mind reeled from the truth. He was ruled by his prock and the woman for which it lusted.

What was happening to him? Where was his control that could break a dragonspell? Where the body so honed it could withstand a dragon's attack with honor and strength?

Gone. Because of a woman and his prock. The very thought sickened him. And yet, he had no way to stop himself, no way to abandon her or his quest. He needed to get to the Queen's cave, and Natiya was the only one who could lead him. Therefore, he needed her.

But he would be damned if he needed to rut with her. Damned if he would force the woman. Damned if he allowed the fire in his blood to rule him. And so he stomped after her, his body still hungry, his mind dark with frustration.

Part of him warned that this was no state in which to embark on a night's travel, much less a night in mountains soon to be clogged with ice and snow. But he had no choice. And worse, he didn't care. She was going into the caves, and he would be damned indeed if he let her escape him. Because, after all his curses, after all the lectures and admonitions his mind screamed at him, one thing remained unshakably true: He was still belly-horned for her, and no amount of logic or fear would keep him from her side.

If she was leaving, he would be at her side.

Chapter 8

Natiya's fury took her all the way out through the innyard and into the stable, but by the time she reached Mobray's stall, it had already petered out. True, she was furious with Kiril, but with distance from the overwhelming man, she could look at the situation more logically.

So, Kiril wanted to rut. Didn't every man? So he'd focused entirely upon spreading her thighs as opposed to someone else's. He was neither the first nor the last man to want her, at least for the moment. Eventually he would tire of her refusals and leave her alone. That made him no different from any of her other admirers.

Except, he
was
different. He had broken her out of prison. He had treated her gently, respectfully; and in her experience that made him unique among men. And far from stopping her from using her mind, he was constantly challenging her to think more, to plan ahead, to reason out her options.

But what really confused her was that, for the first time, she wanted him as much as he seemed to want her. He didn't even have to touch her. As a dancer, she was familiar with every ache her body could experience. He made her flesh respond in entirely new and devastatingly intriguing ways. She wanted him to touch her and do all those other things Monik talked about.

She leaned wearily against the stall door, reaching through to stroke Mobray's nose, feeling an odd kinship with the bald creature. How often did Mobray feel buffeted by forces he could neither control nor understand?

Two days ago, her only concern had been whether or not she could afford another costume. Within the last forty hours she'd been kissed, imprisoned, rescued, and now hunted. Worse, her egg had changed, growing larger and suddenly insistent that they travel immediately to the Queen's cave. Why? She didn't know. But the egg insisted, and she found herself powerless to deny it. Worse, her only bulwark in this storm was a man who seemed to increase the storm's power and fury.

She felt her body tense, felt the moisture of desire. She didn't have to turn to know that Kiril had joined her in the stable. His presence affected her so strongly that even the egg seemed to vibrate with his every breath.

He made it to her side, a heavy satchel slung across his back. "You're still determined to go?" he asked, his voice resigned. "We can't wait until morning?"

"Now," she said, the word ringing clearly despite her doubts. Why the egg insisted it must go now, she hadn't a clue. But the urge—no, its demand—was undeniable. The egg needed to be at the cave quickly. Immediately, if possible. Even the wait to saddle Mobray made it twist in irritation.

Kiril did not complain. He merely dropped his satchel at her feet before going in to saddle his mount. He was clearly peeved, no doubt because of her refusal to lie with him. But at least she'd gotten an answer as to why Dag Jaseen had failed.

No, Jaseen hadn't been possessed by an evil dragon egg. The man had failed because he was a man and subject to all men's failings. They wanted. They rutted. And they usually didn't think beyond that. Thank the goddess Amia that she didn't have the same problem. She only wanted revenge on Dag Racho. She would make him pay for his crimes, and then the rest would fall where it may. As for rutting—she'd lived this long without it; she could go a while longer. Or so she hoped.

"Hand me the bag," Kiril said, his voice sharp and cold.

Natiya grabbed it, taking a moment to look inside. She saw food, water, a fire staff, even cleansing cloths for wounds. He appeared to have thought of everything, and she cursed her own stupidity. D'greth, she was unprepared. She would probably have just set out, not even thinking to grab more than a loaf of bread on her way through the door.

What else didn't she know? What other skills did she lack? If nothing else, the last forty hours had told her that she was woefully unprepared for some of the challenges ahead. And yet, she saw no way to deal with her ignorance. Hatching time was fast approaching, and she would simply have to make do.

With that grim thought in mind, she stepped back, allowing Kiril and Mobray to exit the stall. Moments later Kiril pulled her up with him, placing her once again half on his lap, half on the saddle. She went easily, settling too happily into arms. But that, too, was something she could not change. Her body was already humming in anticipation, her breasts growing heavy with longing, but she had no choice. He was her only means to the Queen's cave. They exited the stableyard quickly, but once away from the stable lights, the night closed about them. The three moons were small these days, making the darkness inky black.

"Here," Kiril said as he lighted the fire staff. "You'll have to hold this. I've got the reins."

She took the heavy rod with both hands, bracing it against her leg. The yellow light from its tip illuminated the path ahead, but it also functioned as a beacon for anyone in the sky: Dag Racho would have little difficulty finding them. She spared one last moment to try and reason with the egg. Certainly, she thought to it, we should wait the night—
Now
, was its only answer. So she sighed, relaxing back against Kiril's steady warmth. He felt as solid as any rock, and she could not resist smiling slightly. It was ridiculous to feel safe in this position—with this man—but she did. And since she had no choice, she decided to enjoy the sensations of his arms around her, his large hands resting lightly on top of her right thigh. Then, just as her eyes began to drift shut, his voice rumbled through her entire body.

"What path do we take?"

"Go east through the Wiaken Pass. There is a path just beyond."

"How old were you when you last went there?"

"Eight. Maybe nine," she lied. In truth, she had been fifteen and running from Uncle Rened.

"How sure are you of this path?"

Positive, she thought. But for his benefit, she shrugged. "It was a long time ago, but I think that's the way."

Apparently, that was all he needed to know. He spoke his commands to Mobray, and soon they were moving through the night toward the Wiaken Pass.

"Tell me about the cave. What do you remember?"

Natiya shifted slightly, readjusting the firestick but mostly wanting to feel the contours of his body against hers. She seemed excruciatingly aware of his chest against her back, his hips and belt hard against her buttocks, and his corded thighs cradling her against the front ridge of the saddle. "I remember the air mostly. Cold and wet, and yet there was a tang in it that seemed to tingle against my skin." She wet her lips. "I could almost taste it." She sighed. "I suppose that doesn't make much sense"

Kiril shook his head, his voice a low thrum against her back. "All clutching caves are like that. I cannot explain, either, but I know what you mean."

"I didn't understand it, but I think my parents did."

"Why?" His voice tightened with intensity. "What do you think they knew?"

She shrugged—again, not because she needed to express her confusion, but because she liked the feel of moving against his body. "I don't know. They just seemed to spend a lot of time in there and were happier when we returned." The memories were tangled in her mind, confused and faded with time.

"What else do you remember?"

"Nothing." Unfortunately, that was true. Once one knew the path to the cave, the rest was no more than common knowledge. A dragon's nest was obvious—no more than a small circle of eggs on a pillow of spongy effluvium surrounded by a circle of stones.

"Were there markers along the path? Could anyone find it given basic instructions?"

"No and no. I remember because..." Her voice trailed away as she tried to isolate exactly why she did remember.

"Because?" he prompted.

"I don't know." She sighed. "I just remember, that's all."

"Did you play in the caves?"

She felt herself smile. "Always. My family used to tease me, saying I was dragonborn." She twisted, looking up at his face as she shared her memories. "They said I was conceived in a clutching cave, and born in one, too." She leaned back, relaxing into his heat once again. "They were dragon scholars, remember? They spent many years in or around the caves when my brother and I were little. They only came back to teach at the university and so I could go to school."

She felt him nod, his chin rubbing in gentle strokes across her temple. "There is your answer, then. I have told you that dragons are filled with magic. If their blood holds special properties, doesn't it make sense that the place where they mate and bear their young would also hold great power? Without even thinking about it, you probably attuned yourself when you were young."

She hadn't considered that, but as soon as he said it, she knew he was correct. And the egg echoed his sentiments. Then the oddest thought popped into her mind, and since she was so relaxed, the words found voice even before she recognized the question.

"How did your family find an egg? Where did they get it?"

She felt him inhale, a sharp intake of breath before he finally released it in a slow, controlled whisper of air.

"You don't want to tell me, do you?" she guessed.

He sighed. "I have grown up in court, Natiya, where information is more valuable than gold loga. But there is no reason for you not to know." Still, he didn't immediately answer, and she was forced to twist, looking up into his face.

"Kiril?"

"They got it from your parents. How do you think I knew who you were? You were very young, no more than five, with short cropped hair and a penchant for stealing my soldier toys."

"I did not!" she exclaimed. Or at least she had no memory of such an event.

"Oh yes, you did. I believe you wanted to play school with them, taking my best wooden archers and punishing them when they couldn't spell words correctly." He chuckled at the memory, and she smiled along with him. "You had short hair and a perpetually dirty nose from all the places you kept poking it into."

"What a rude thing to say!" she returned, pretending to an insult she didn't feel.

"I was eight, and you were a royal pain."

"And all the while our parents were plotting ..." Her voice trailed away in confusion. All this time, she'd thought them innocent victims of Dag Racho's dragon purge. To find out now that they had been involved in a conspiracy felt profoundly unsettling. She couldn't even say how, only that she did not like her view of the past altered.

Kiril did not comment, but she felt his displeasure. He thought them fools, that the whole attempt to destroy Dag Racho had been ill-conceived from the beginning. And given that both their families had perished, perhaps he had the right of it. But if they had been wrong in their plans—her parents were dragon scholars, and his a great political family—then what chance did she have, a lone woman with no training at all? The very thought gave her shivers. Especially since she had no way to change course.