Page 28 of Burned

“No?” He tilts his head. “Then maybe it’s that you don’t trust me.”

“I do, Alrick. I do.” I put my hand over his where it’s still resting on my knee. “It’s a bad habit. Older brother syndrome, if you will.”

His expression softens and he nods. “Oldest sibling and youngest. Makes a lot of sense now, doesn’t it?”

“If it helps, I dote on all my brothers. It’s just what I do when I ca—” I stop myself from admitting too much, but judging from the soft smile on his lips, he caught it anyway.

“How about, just for tonight or this journey, you let me step up too? Is that a deal?”

The control freak part of my brain tries to object, but the rest of me, including my dragon, is too damn tired to argue. “A few hours of sleep would probably help.”

“Of course it would. I got this, Lord.” He pats the sleeping bag he’s lying on. “Come take my spot. I need to piss and stretch my legs.”

I nod, all too aware that if he wanted to, he could attack me as I slept, but with what? A rock? A tree branch? He’s a benign threat in this setting, and I really could use the sleep. We trade places, and as soon as I’m horizontal, I can no longer keep my eyes open from the weight of exhaustion.

After what we shared earlier, surely I deserve a few hours of rest.

ALRICK

After relieving myself,I shuffle back to the camp, carrying a few sticks and branches to add to the fire. Lord is sound asleep, his face completely lax. Relaxed like this, he looks like an old painting. Maybe that’s where he gets his name. He’s like a high-ranking lord from renaissance Italy or France or some shit.

Gods, he’s beautiful.

The thought tightens my chest instantly, and he stirs. Can he feel my emotions as strongly as I can feel his?

His slip a few minutes ago made it clear he cares about me, but it’s not clear why. He should hate me, but he doesn’t. I should hate him too, but yeah, I definitely don’t. I can’t stop thinking about the fiery kiss we shared. Literal fire. I don’t know why it didn’t hurt or burn me, and I kind of don’t care. I just want more. And that’s so fucked up.

How could I possibly face my brothers with Lord by my side? Would they know right away what he is? Digby would. His ability to sniff out dragons is how we ended up in that region in the first place.

I watch Lord sleep, his eyelids fluttering and tendrils of smoke rising every time he exhales through his nose. How could someone look at this man and think about killing him? No fucking way.

Maybe Digby doesn’t know that they can be so… charismatic. And sexy and elegant. He thinks of them as beasts, but Lord isn’t anything like that. Even in dragon form, there was something so alluring I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I wasn’t scared of him. I only wanted to touch him.

Stoking the fire, I poke at it with a stick, smiling as embers light the night. Just like Lord’s kiss.

If he was my man, I’d crawl over there and lie on top of him, undress him and feel the heat of his skin against mine as I lick and kiss every bit of his flesh. I’d rub against him, drawing his dragon to the surface so I could see his eyes again and taste his fire. I’d rub all over his scales too.

I’d make my way down his body and take him into my mouth before offering my body. I’d let him own me.

Swallowing hard, I shift as my cock swells, rallying again for another hit of the sexy man. For the first time in a very long time, I want things I don’t allow myself to think about anymore.

A home of my own. A life that doesn’t include hunting and killing something that never did anything to me. A man who loves me.

I blow out a breath, blinking back the tears stinging my eyes and threatening to fall.

Vikings don’t cry, we don’t feel, and we damn sure don’t get emotional about killing dragons. I’ve just honestly never seen a reason other than tradition. Sure, hundreds of years ago dragons flew into villages and destroyed them, taking what they wanted for their hoards, but it’s not like that anymore.

Digby and my dad would remind me that many of those dragons are still alive today and therefore deserve to taste themetal of our swords, but I’m still not on board. I know my dad’s patience with me is running thin too. If I don’t get a kill soon, he’ll consider me a disgrace.

Shaking my head to rid myself of those useless thoughts, I focus on the fire. I have to do it. Otherwise, I’ll be disowned and have nowhere to go. No family to care about me.

But not Lord.

He’s safe with me.

After a few hours, the dark sky shifts to light gray, and I dig around in Lord’s bag, finding tea bags and instant coffee. That’ll do.

He has a few bottles of water too, and I realize how much weight he was carrying. I think that’s true both physically and metaphorically. Maybe just for a few hours or days, however long this journey is, I can indulge myself in fantasies I’ll never have, and I can… care for him too.

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