Page 10 of Caress of Fire
The Draekon kept staring at her, his strange eyes set on her with intensity. His face was an unreadable mask, nothing filtering through the impossibly handsome, sculpted features. The man was like an all-powerful God from the world before the Great War, before the Draekons and their beasts wiped out all remnants of the old human civilization. All semblance of Gods had perished in the dragons’ fire, along with most of mankind. The Draekons were the new Gods of Earth.
There was no mercy to be expected from him.
“This couldn’t have been me. It couldn’t have been any human.” Marielle spoke with desperation. She had to make him believe her. It was her last chance. “I didn’t know about the link. No one does.”
“I believe you.”
The Draekon man stepped closer. His striking face, all sharp angles and masculine strength, was heated with animation now. He radiated anger through every pore of his skin, but the anger wasn’t directed at her. Which, she reflected, was a good thing, because if the Draekon ever looked at her with such savagery, she would die on the spot.
“But if you didn’t kill my father then someone else did. Someone from his own household.”
“Father?” Marielle spoke without even realizing it. She stared at him. This was getting too much for her. “You are Lord Aymond Haal’s son?”
“I am Fedryc Haal.” The Draekon man nodded slowly. “And as of this night, I am the new High Lord of Aalstad.”
Marielle and the Draekon stared at each other for a long time. That strange silver gaze never wavered, never faltered as he studied her face, then glanced down over her body, making her skin prickle and her stomach flip. There was something hungry and dark in that gaze, something savage and wild, so far from human she trembled under it. It was a male gaze, as unashamed as it was brazen. It was a seal of possession that made her want to rebel and melt all at the same time.
“If you want to live, Marielle Jansen, then follow me.”
Chapter 4
Fedryc walked fast, but the terrible knowledge wouldn’t stay behind. That woman, that fiery, attractive woman could not have killed Lord Aymond, he knew that as surely as he was linked to Nyra. He had studied her with all the skill of his years of training in the Emperor’s court. Her pulse, that small throbbing movement at the base of her throat, had remained steady as she assured him she had found Nissar dead first and Lord Aymond had quickly followed. Her pupils had stayed the same in those storm-colored eyes.
She was telling him the truth. But if Marielle Jansen hadn’t killed Lord Aymond, then who had? And why?
Fedryc fought his attraction to the human woman, forcing himself not to glance back. This was the first human woman he had ever seen, and he was struck by her exotic beauty. Not touching her had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Even now, all he could focus on was her. His brain caught every tiny step she made, the way her bare feet lightly brushed the stone. He had to use all his willpower to stop himself from turning around, grabbing that tiny, fiery human woman, and pulling her against him.
Taste those lips. Grab a fistful of that red hair.
What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be lusting after a woman who was destined to mate with my father.
Fedryc bit his lower lip, hard enough that the metallic taste of blood covered his tongue. His attraction was a distraction he didn’t need. A dangerous distraction.
“Where are you taking me?” Marielle called from behind him in her musical, fluted voice.
Fedryc kept going, not trusting himself to pause. Not trusting himself to look at her.
Then her tiny, brushing footsteps stopped. Reluctantly, he paused his steps.
“Keep going.” Fedryc turned his head sideways, just enough to see her silhouette a few paces behind him.
“I’m not moving until you tell me where we’re going.”
Her voice was small and he could hear the tremor in it but there was steel there, too, something that told him she wasn’t as meek as he had first thought. Fedryc inhaled deeply, then turned fully around.
Marielle stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her silk-and-lace gown stained and torn, exposing milky white, shapely legs. The tops of her full breasts peeked over the neckline of her dress, round and firm. Delectable.
Everywhere, red-flaming hair, long and savage with curls, fell around her face like a brazier, all the way down to her elbows. The same color as Nyra’s scales, it was as deep and vivid as the glowing embers of a dragon’s fire.
The growl started low in his throat as his eyes trailed up.
Her mouth was full and round, pink as a flower bud, and her delicate, straight nose was speckled with freckles, giving her a vivacious, intelligent expression. Her eyes glowed like a stormy sky, gray and pure, brewing with fear but also with defiance.
You are mine, Marielle Jansen. You don’t know it yet, but you are mine.
The thought caught him unawares and he mentally shook it away. He’d had plenty of lovers back on Dagmar, noble ladies and rich traders’ daughters, but none had made him feel such possessiveness, such male envy. He was dangerously close to losing his focus, something he could not afford.
What is it with you, woman? I’m not myself around you.
