Page 25 of Redeeming the Dragon

With aching slowness, I shifted my weight from my bottom to my knees. The man was sprawled beside me, between the desk and me. Between the door and me. That thought made me pause for a moment, staring hard at where his head rested. Was that why he lay here? Had it nothing to do with sensuality, or companionship, or guardianship, or anything of the kind, but an attempt to keep me here? Was lying next to me, blocking my escape route, a manner ofmaintaining my captivity? Even though I’d already gotten past him once.

Well, he’d not prevent me from having space tonight. Carefully, I scooted my knees closer to him. I lifted my right knee, preparing to leverage it over his legs and onto the spare bit of mattress on the other side. At the same time, I shifted my weight onto my left wrist, even as I also raised my right hand…

Only to see a blur of motion and feel a burst of movement. Out of nowhere, an iron hand shot through the dark, seizing my wrist. The stranger bolted up in bed, knocking me off balance. I screamed, pitching backward onto the mattress.

“Fleeing the coop, little bird?” he asked.

Chapter 15

For a moment, I was too frightened to speak. I fought to gather my wits. Scrabbling to get my feet under me, I gasped,

“I was not fleeing.”

“No? Then where did you plan to go?”

He was not releasing me. I could hardly believe the strength of his grip. His fingers were iron manacles. Not painful—he was not squeezing enough to hurt, while still restraining me with the force of true shackles. I knew, were I to fight, I would get nowhere. I was his prisoner in every sense of the word.

“I only meant to…”

I faltered to a stop. I didn’t know what to tell him. Instead, I tossed my head to remove my tangled hair from my face and remained mute.

“No response?”

Again, the soft, sibilant accent to his “s.” I’d never met a Warkin before, never heard one speak. His accent was as foreign to me as his shapeshifting abilities, or the magic of this cave. I held myselfstiff, drawing back on my arm in silent protest to his grip, while not bothering to expend any energy in a foolish attempt to free myself.

“Then I must surmise you had some treachery in mind,” he jibed, tugging me closer.

I grabbed hold of the blankets as if their flimsy support could keep me in place.

“I didn’t,” I insisted. “I only meant to get away from you for the night,” I blurted out. “Surely, it was no greater treachery than what you have done.”

“What I have done?” Instantly, he stopped pulling on my arm and released me. I was so surprised by the sudden freedom that I fell backward again, catching myself with a palm on the mattress. “What have I done, Lorna, beyond bringing my mate to my home? I’ve offered you no harm. I’ve ensured your needs are met. Anything you asked for, down to the instruments for sewing, has been provided, yes?”

So, he knew about my sewing. That was good. It was part of my plan. And yet…how did he know? Did he turn himself invisible to spy on me, or did the magic inform him? I didn’t bother asking. Instead, fiercely, I shoved myself back up, wishing I could see more of his features than his golden, slitted eyes gleaming at me in the darkness.

“You robbed me of my freedom!” I snapped. “You claim I’m your mate, but you didn’t visit my island with gifts or kind words to win me. Rather, you frightened my parents into sacrificing a daughter. You scared me into acquiescing in order to save my sisters. You locked me in a cave, you sleep beside me—uninvited—at night, and you wish to know what you’ve done wrong? What manner of monster are you?”

This seemed to sober him. For a few moments, he was very silent. I saw a shadow pass over his face, momentarily concealing his eyes, as if he’d wearily scrubbed a hand over it.

“I am a monster,” he replied. “Of what sort, I cannot tell you. Would that I could. I can only say that you are my sole hope of not remaining a monster forever.”

The remark sobered me, as well.

“How do I save you from being a monster?” I asked quietly. I shifted, sitting back on my heels, facing him. I did not want to feel sympathy for this man, this creature, who had kidnapped me. Yet, something about his air evoked the feeling, despite my better judgment.

Silence met my question. He waited for so long to answer, that I finally prompted, “Dragon? What is it that I am to do, to save you from being a monster?”

This, finally, prompted him to speak. He chuckled, and the sound was shockingly warm and pleasant in the darkness and cold of the cave.

“My name is not Dragon,” he replied.

I felt myself bristle. Whether at his humor or to instinctively fight off my agreeable reaction to his laugh, I couldn’t say. I did not want to like anything about him, including the deepness of his voice, or the strangeness of his accent.

“You have not told me your name,” I ground out. “I must call you something.”

“You have not asked my name,” he replied.

“Would you tell me if I did?”

---