Page 43 of Redeeming the Dragon

He was definitely asleep.

The plan was nothing grand. Rather, it was simple, which was the beauty of it. I sat up, sliding my fingers under the tiny lace collar of the nightgown I wore. Around my neck, was a piece of thin twine. Suspended from the twine, was a tiny pouch. A pouch Mama had given me, back in my room in the cottage, when she’d talked me into this madcap endeavor. My fingertips slid beneath my nightgown, tugging the drawstring edges apart.

I want everything to change,I thought stubbornly.A life in this cave is no lifeat all.

Think of his life,my conscience pleaded.He’s not harmed you. Suppose this act irrevocably changes his life?

Then he should not have changed mine by kidnapping me from my home. Even if I am his alleged mate,I argued, beating down the protests.

Carefully, I twisted about in the bed, my motions achingly slow, until I faced my captor. Rising to my knees, I reached into the pouch and withdrew its contents.

They were nothing much.

A stump of a candle. The tools to light it.

When Mama had insisted that I look upon my captor to ascertain what manner of creature he was, I’d had to explain the cave offered me no means of light. The cave walls glowed or dimmed, creating the illusion of night and day. Even if I wished to stay up late and read or think or walk, the cave would not allow it. At a certain point, the cave would be in total darkness. Nor would it permit me to spark a light.

“Then you must provide your own light,” Mama had said. “An outside source, unaffected by the magic of the cave. Here.”

And she’d blown out the stump of the candle on its brass holder, allowed it to cool, then wrapped it in a protective cloth and stuffed it in the pouch, along with the lighting devices.

I could hear my breath in my lungs. Shaky. Nervous. As shaky and nervous as the dragon’s was deep and calm.

Don’t do it,my conscience warned.

Seize your destiny,that stubborn inner voice argued.

I lit the candlewick, sparking a tiny flame, leaned over the dragon-man, and looked.

What I was expecting, I cannot say. Mama had so filled my head with terror, that I think I’d half-feared learning a troll actually sharedmy bed. Or a Simathe, shadowy and feared. Or a Cistweigh, a living corpse, the horrors of which I could hardly begin to imagine.

What I actually saw was no monster, or immortal warrior. He was no terrifying creature at all. He was simply a man.

A man of unusual appearance, in some respects. I had never seen a Warkin, a Dragonkind, prior to this, and knew little of their culture. His skin was darker than mine, browned by the sun, and dark-blue tattoos sprawled up his arms and across his chest, ending beneath his thin, sleeveless shirt where I could no longer see them. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, bespeaking a life that was far from pampered or easy, and proclaiming a strength with the ability to destroy or protect.

Only, I had never actually felt threatened by him—and still didn’t, as I continued to study my captor.

His hair was several shades darker than the customary Aerisian blonde. In fact, it was nearly brown, but retained an auburn sheen that reflected the sputtering candlelight. A neatly trimmed beard shadowed his face and jaw. The bottom half of his head was shaven, and the hair on the top was long, drawn back, and tied away from his face, even in sleep.

His eyelids were closed, shielding his eyes. I knew their appearance: golden, the pupils slitted, like a serpent’s. His lashes were thick on his cheeks. Along the sides of his face, predominately around his eyes, was a smattering of coppery dragon scales that glistened in the candlelight. Despite his youth—he looked a few years older than my own nineteen—there were faint lines at the corners of his eyes and across his brow, marking a difficult life.

What sort of fate has cursed you to this life?I wondered, my hand automatically reaching out to touch him, to brush the scales and then smooth away the lines that marred his brow, even while he slept.Whattragedies have you endured that bind you to a dragon’s form and make you believe you’re mated to a Sanlyn girl? Is there help for you? Is there help for me?

My heart turned over. He was wild and fierce-looking, to be sure, but I was not put off by it. I supposed, given the tales I’d heard of the Aerisian capital, and its more sedate, elegant folk, that my own race, the Sanlyn, would seem very wild and fierce-looking in comparison to them. Facing a person different from me was not troublesome. After all, I could see he was just a man. A man different from what I was accustomed to, perhaps. A mysterious man, with the ability to take on a dragon’s form. Strangest of all, he was a man from another race who claimed I was his mate yet asked me to dwell in silence and shadows.

For all that, he was no monster.

He was simply a man.

My heart flipped in my chest like a fish caught in a Sanlyn’s net. I felt the motion, and it inspired me. Drawn by a strange force that I didn’t recognize, a force outside of myself that tugged fiercely at my heart, I leaned over the man, cradling the sputtering stump of candle in my hand.

I told myself I simply meant to study his face. To gaze upon the person who held me in this strange captivity.

I found myself doing more than that. Much more.

Compelled by an unknown emotion I couldn’t even name, I leaned over him and pressed a gentle kiss to his brow. Featherlight. Soft as a ray of sunshine. Sweet as the breath of the wind. I pressed my lips to the care lines on his forehead, then to those at the corner of one eye, then the other.

He stirred, causing me to draw back. The candle trembled in my hand, and a drop of wax fell on my skin. My breath hissed through my teeth. I clamped my lips to smother any outcry. Quickly, I transferredthe candle to my other hand, wiping the wax away on the blankets before it could harden. Throughout it all, the man stayed asleep. My heart continued to tug me towards him, as surely as the invisible magnet of the shoreline entices the waves. Ever revisiting and returning, unable to flee.

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