Page 50 of Power of Draken

“I’m sorry for being such a mess, I mean. I know that if not for me, you could have had this whole assignment done in half the time. Instead you are stuck?—”

“Stop.” Kyrian puts a finger to my lips, halting my rambling apology. “Aye, I coulddo this faster alone—but what exactly would be the point then? It would be like fighting for the sake of fighting. Protecting ye, chaos, isn’t some extra chore, it's my whole reason for being here. Don’t you see? You’re an honor, not a burden.”

“I don’t think Logan would agree with you,” I point out. “Or are we still pretending he took off because he thought scouting ahead was the responsible choice?”

“I lack the imagination to envision Logan making responsible choices. What I’m quite certain of though, is that his departure had everything to do with his own demons and not yours.”

“And that’s why Kai ran off after kissing me in the workshop too?”

Kyrian winces. “My friends are arseholes.”

“And you?” I whisper.

“Am I an arsehole?”

“Are you going to run off? Because if you are, please just tell me. I can’t go to sleep wondering if you are going to be here when I wake up in the morning… Or… or whether each time you touch me might be the last because you’ll get some epiphany and decide that there are better honors or causes out there and -”

Kyrian's large hands cup my face, his calloused thumbs stroking my cheekbones with exquisite tenderness as his azure eyes bore into mine. “Look at me, lass,” he orders softly, his song-like accent thicker than usual. “I'm right here with ye. I’m not going anywhere, not unless ye tell me to leave ye the hell alone. Maybe not even then. But I know asking ye to trust me on that isn’t something I’ve earned, so I’m not going to do that. I’ll just prove it to ye. As many times as it takes.”

One of his hands slips around to cup the back of my head, and he dips down capturing my lips with his own in a slow, tender kiss that steals the protests still lingering on my tongue.

“You… are… changing the subject,” I gasp out with the small breath I can steal.

“Aye.” Kyrian deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, asking for entrance. I grant it, parting for him, and he delves inside, stroking and caressing as if the whole world has narrowed to nothing butthis one connection. “In my defense, I don’t believe words will do much good just now,” he whispers against me.

A small moan escapes me and I press closer, tangling my fingers in his tousled hair. “Cheater.”

“Hmm.” He makes a noise with the back of his throat, and delves right back in as my body melts against his.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed and his breath mingling with my own. I slide my hand down to where I feel his need, hard and pulsing against me, but Kyrian captures my wrist with a gentle hold. “No,” he whispers. “No more games. The next time I’m inside you, I want it to be because you want me there. All of me, not just my cock. When you trust me enough to want me.”

Before I can protest, he tucks me against his broad chest and nestles us back under the covers. I can feel every hard plane and ridge of his warrior's body against my soft curves, his warmth and scent enveloping me like a cocoon as I drift back to sleep.

In the morning, the weather is infuriatingly calm, as if trying to convince us that last night's storm never happened. Kyrian walks out of the shelter only to return minutes later with a pair of rabbits.

My stomach rumbles, but I narrow my gaze at the warrior. “That was absurdly fast.”

“That’s because they were there already,” he says wearily. I can hear the unspoken message—our breakfast is Logan’s doing—but don’t press when Kyrian offers no explanation. While Kyrian cooks the meat, I dig out the powders I’d forgotten to take last night, and quickly mix my medicine.

“It helps keep my dizzy spells down,” I explain to Kyrian when he raises a questioning brow, and gladly chase the bitter brew with a slice of fatty meat that he offers, taking it into my mouth right from his finger.

“You need to eat more,” Kyrian says, holding out a whole rabbit leg. He watches to ensure I eat the whole thing, then hands me another before taking a piece for himself. I try to argue but he shakes his head at me.

“Of all battles, is this really the one you want to pick?” He asks.

“When you put it that way -”

“Good. Then eat.”

Dry, rested and fed we make good time toward the second waypoint, which requires climbing a path not even mountain goats would find amusing. The only reason I make it to dinnertime without a broken neck is because Kyrian ties me to him with a length of rope and proves able to anchor himself to sheer stone whenever I slip and dangle over one abyss or another.

“Not much farther now,” Kyrian says, pulling me onto a narrow ledge before studying the next section of the climb. We are so high, that wispy clouds that usually drift lazily overhead, are not that much overhead anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to reach out and touch one sometime soon. “The first two waypoints are gimmies. We’ll have to work for the third one though.”

I stare at the back of his head wondering if he even hears himself. I’ve brushed death more times in the last two days than I have in the last two decades. And this is the easy part?

I suppose I should be grateful for Eryndor’s geography, since without it the draken would have destroyed us long ago. Between our high altitude forcing the beasts to stay in the lower, thicker air, and the perilous up and downdrafts created by the ancient forests and cliffs, we are utterly hostile to the flying creatures. And not much more hospitable to the two legged walking ones who ride them.

“Did you have any say in our waypoint assignments?” I ask Kyrian.

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