Page 9 of Fallen for the Two-Headed Dragon

The sight of her bare body lying on the table stoked the fire in his veins. She lay back and stared at the ceiling as he surveyed the damage, which was minor other than a large poorly-healed chunk of missing skin, presumably from her initial fall into his lair. He smeared the healing salve over the scabbed skin, eliciting a wince and a sharp inhale. As he traced her flesh farther down, his gaze flicked up to the stubble covering the sweet-smelling spot between her legs, the sign of a healthy and mature mate. The primal animal within him twitched to attention, his body desiring to fill his mate with buckets of seed until she was successfully bred. He licked his lips as the scent wafted down to meet his nostrils before returning to his work. Her swollen ankle was already bruising.

Rathym filled a goblet with wine from his enchanted bottle and slid it over to her. She gulped it down and held it out for more, which he obliged, which she promptly gulped down again. “Careful, human. This is not your typical wine.”

“I can handle myself.” She hiccupped and held the goblet out again.

Rathym’s brow furrowed, but he grunted and obliged again. At least she would be safe here, should the dwarven drink knock her out.

“This will not feel pleasant,” he warned.

All he wished to do right now was give her pleasure, if only to ensure she would never again run off to be ripped apart by wolves. He wanted to convince her she was better off here, with him, where she was safe and had all the comforts she could possibly need. Here, where nothing could harm her. But that was not the situation they found themselves in.

He rubbed the salve on her tender flesh with utmost care, treating her raw leg with the caress of a breeze and traveling down to her swollen ankle. To his surprise, the warm scent of her increased in intensity. A moan slipped from her lips. The toes on her other foot curled. The flame inside his bloodstream matched that of her stuttered breath. He glanced up to see her chin tilted back, eyes closed, plump lip caught in her teeth. He allowed his gaze to wander downward, drinking in her peaked nipples, which were hard and burnished like golden thimbles straight from the seamstresses of Elvendale.

He was supposed to be angry with her, but his body rebelled. The sight of her nearly writhing under his hands was too attractive to ignore. He wondered what sounds she would make if he massaged her in other places. Would she mewl like this? If she would make these perfect sounds from between his legs, then he wouldn’t stop kneading her until her spark left her body under his touch.

The spell broke when she gasped in pain. He’d gotten careless. He backed away to clean up his work table, but he did not miss the glance she cast down at his half-stiff cocks before scrambling to cover herself.

Cursed flame! What the hells was he doing? The woman had drank three full goblets of dwarven wine, and here he was, imagining her thighs spread open below him. Distance! He must be more careful, but the damned faulty mate sensations were overwhelming, especially when she smelled and sounded so fucking appetizing.

“I’ll bring you fresh clothing. Wait here.” He flinched at his voice, which sounded like a creaky door hinge.

Deeper in the cave, where his softer, more sentimental items lived, he located the wardrobe that once belonged to Riniya, which she’d never grown old enough to wear. The flowing fabric would lie flatteringly against his human’s slight curves, and it would bring him great joy to see a token of a long-ago friendship put to good use.

Among the items, he located a strip of fabric to wrap around his waist. The silky fabric was not too disruptive to his loins, and if it brought a modicum of comfort to his human treasure, then so be it. He could not allow her to be so repulsed by his form that she was moved to run away again. There were some ways he could compromise without abandoning his morals. She was more important than his pride. She was a transient and beautiful treasure, but moreover, she was a delicate species. A vulnerable human. Nearly anything could snuff her spark from the earth.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she accepted the dress. Then, hesitantly, she added, “Rathym?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for causing you trouble.” Her voice lowered until it was as quiet as the wind. When she spoke again, the words rushed out, like a gust rustling through cherry blossoms. “Are you upset with me?”

“It’s no trouble, Dana,” he assured her. Her glossy, downcast gaze briefly lifted to his. He extended a claw and raised her chin so she would see his earnesty. “I will always protect you. You belong here, with me.”

She startled him by wrapping her arms around his waist, her bare chest pressing against the epidermal plates of his abdomen lusciously, sending both of his hearts beating in rapid succession. He recovered from his shock and clasped her firmly in place. When her warmth left him, he gently swiped the silken dress from her arm and draped it over her head, then scooped her up.

“Can you grab my bag? Need to take my contacts out.”

“Yes. Lie down. I have pressing matters to attend.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll just leave again?”

Rathym huffed. “If your ankle does not deter you, this sleeping draught will. Though you drank enough dwarven alcohol to fell a small dragon.”

He tucked her under the blankets and paused to brush a dark lock from her cheek. He stepped into a room tucked behind a tapestry, where his herbs and medicines were stored, and grabbed the potion labeled Slumber. Removing the cork, he flicked the vial twice into a mug of cold water and breathed fire against it enough to bring the contents to lukewarm and refrain from melting the porcelain.

Dana accepted the mug and took a sip. Her eyes closed as she hummed in appreciation.

“I didn’t know you had hot water down here. And what is in this tea? It’s delicious!” She peered at him through eyes like little slits.

“It’s an old herbal remedy. And all water can be easily warmed if you’re Fireborn.”

“So you really can breathe fire?” Her tone was filled with excitement, but a yawn trailed the end of her question. The draught was working quickly. Or was it the wine?

“Yes, I am gifted with the Great Flame.” Rathym plucked the empty mug from her hand. He stumbled over his words when she lifted her arms in a broad stretch, her back arching from the bedding. He cleared his throat and turned away. “Enough elemental talk for now. Get your rest. I will return before you wake.”

“Okay.” The blankets rustled. “Hey, Rathym?”

“Yes?”

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