Page 45 of Burned

“Did you grow up in Norway?” I ask.

Alrick sets his bag next to mine and joins me at the window.

“I was born there, but I kind of grew up all over. We’ve always moved around a lot. My dad said if we stayed in one place too long, dragons would come for us.”

I frown. I can’t say the man is completely wrong. The clan members of those slain might seek revenge. It was certainly the first thing on my mind after Judre’s untimely demise. But something tells me his paranoia was just another way to convince his sons that dragons were to be feared and hated more than anything.

“What about you? You said you were born in France?” He bumps his shoulder against mine and I feel the tug of an urge to pull him closer.

“Hatched might be the more accurate term, but yes.” I smile, memories from my long-ago childhood flooding my mind as if they happened yesterday. The cozy cave we called home, the forests my brothers and I spent hours every day exploring and running through, the sound of my mother’s voice crooning our favorite lullabies in her soft French accent.

My chest warms with affection and nostalgia, but a sour core of guilt keeps me from smiling. Every minute I spend with Alrick puts my family more at risk. I’m betraying them by being here with him now. So why is my dragon so convinced this is right? It’s enough to make my head spin, and I’m not the only one.

Through our bond, I can feel a tangled knot of emotions coming from Alrick, with too many threads to easily pick apart and decipher. He takes a rattling breath, and I can sense the tension in his body. That won’t do at all. If these are the final days we have together, I want them to be the best of his life.

“I need to make a phone call to Dahlia so she can start on the potion, but why don’t I draw you a bath first? You can relax and wash off the past few days of camping, and afterward, we’ll order room service.”

Anxiety sparks through our bond, and I could almost convince myself that he’s as conflicted about severing our connection as I am, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

“You’re used to taking care of everyone else, aren’t you?” he says.

I chuckle. “I guess I am.”

His fingers brush against mine and he teases his pinky finger along the back of my knuckles. It’s such a small amount of contact, but it draws my fire to the surface all the same, heating my belly and filling my mouth with the taste of smoke.

“Counteroffer,” he says. “I’ll run my own bath, and when you finish your phone call, you can join me.”

I lean in and drag my nose along the curve of his neck, reveling in the heated shiver that runs through his body and the flare of lust that warms his scent.

“Deal,” I growl, my voice barely human. I nip lightly at the thrumming pulse in his throat, not breaking the skin, but just hard enough to draw a delicious gasp from him. “Go before I change my mind and devour you right here on the rug instead.”

Alrick moans. “Is that supposed to be an incentive to actually walk away?”

I drag my tongue along the same path I just traced with my nose, and he trembles again.

“How about this for an incentive? Go now and I’ll devour you in the bath and again right here on the rug later, with the lights of the city shining through the window.”

“Deal,” he rasps, echoing my previous response, and then he hurries off into the bathroom. Our bond tugs at the center of mychest. Is it getting stronger or am I simply becoming more aware of it as the days pass?

I stand there far longer than necessary, staring at the bathroom door, feeling the echo of Alrick’s surprise and joy as he explores the no-doubt extravagant bathroom on the other side. He was still so wary of me when we were at my house that I can’t help but wonder what he would think ofmybathroom if he took the time to enjoy it. Would he stifle a sound of glee over the large, multi-jet tub like he did just now? Would he coo over the variety of scented bubble baths and bath bombs I always keep on hand? And what about my hoard?

My chest constricts with longing at the thought. Would he find it adequate? Would he let me drape him in priceless jewels and fuck him on a bed of gold coins? My dragon rumbles and my cock swells with a heavy throb. Would my odd obsession with cookie cutters make him laugh or would he find them sweet? A whimper tightens in my throat and I’m not sure if it’s my dragon’s despair or my own that elicits the sound. Both, perhaps.

When I finally hear the gentle splash of Alrick stepping into the full bath, I reluctantly pull my phone out of my pocket to call Dahlia. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can sink back into my fantasy world with my Viking for just a few more days. There are dozens of text notifications from my brothers, but I clear them without reading any and dial the witch’s number.

She answers before the first ring is even complete.

“Speak of the devil.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

She gives a throaty chuckle on the other end. “I literally just hung up with your brothers. You realize they’re losing their shit, right?”

My gut clenches. “Is everything okay?”

Dahlia laughs again. “You tell me. You asked me for a whole batch of healing potions without telling me what they’re for and then you disappeared with nothing more than a vague explanation about an injured human. Is this the dragon version of a midlife crisis or something?”

I scoff. “I’m nowhere near middle aged.”

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