Page 12 of Caress of Fire
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She staredat the door for a long time after Lord Fedryc had left. Her heart still beat too strongly in her chest, pushing against her ribs like it wanted to be free from its cage of bones.
What just happened?
The way those silver eyes had looked at her, the way the Draekon had touched her, like he couldn’t keep himself from doing it. She could have melted on the spot.
The man hadn’t just saved her from certain death, he was handsome and sexy as hell.
Her hand reached up to her cheek, then went to her lips, to where Lord Fedryc’s touch had lingered. A slow shiver, deep and delicious, traveled up her spine, tingling spreading in her body, delicious and forbidden. She hadn’t pushed him away. She couldn’t have even if she had wanted to. He could have done whatever he wanted to her, she wouldn’t have stopped him. She would have kissed him back and damned herself for a moment of passion.
She had to get a grip on herself. Handsome Draekon Lord or not, she was a prisoner in this castle.
What mattered now was to get back to Devan before Ignio Marula exacted his revenge on her brother. It couldn’t be too long before the news of the High Lord’s death came to the thug’s ears, and then he would know there would be no money. Thankfully, now that she was useless to him, Lord Fedryc Haal would release her soon. Maybe he would even take pity on her and help her pay Ignio Marula to save Devan.
Thoughts swirled in her head of possible ways to get her hands on the money to pay the thug. She wasn’t beyond begging, when it came to it. She would do anything she needed to save her brother.
She would go back home, grab Devan, and run as far as her legs would carry her. There was nothing else to keep her in Aalstad. The life of misery and fear they’d led up to now—they would leave it behind and start fresh, somewhere far away where no one knew their names.
Just her and her baby brother, like always. All she had to do was to keep the dangerously attractive lord at arm’s length.
Draekons were the enemy. They used women to give them children, paying them an obscene sum of money for a pregnancy that had fifty percent chances of killing them. They were monsters with no heart, and she would do well to remember that.
Marielle inhaled deeply, then turned around to look at her surroundings. She was in some kind of living room, with tasteful, exotic furnishings adorning the space, giving it the look of something out of a fairy tale. There were two long sofas, their cushions ornate and embroidered, so beautiful Marielle was sure no one ever dared to sit on them, on either side of an ornate low table on which a sumptuous mother of pearl mosaic represented a Draekon flying with his dragon. Looking down at the table, she knew it was worth ten times what Devan owed Ignio Marula. A simple piece of furniture, one in a hundred—in a thousand—here in this castle, was worth more than her brother’s life.
She hated every single piece of it.
From where she stood, she could see the corner of a large bed in the adjoining room. It was piled high with blankets and pillows, and the intimacy of it made her uneasy. Lord Fedryc had brought her into his personal rooms, where he slept and ate, away from the eyes of the castle.
Where he was at home, safe and comfortable.
There was a small pile of heating crystals in each corner of the room, but they were not enough to heat the space and Marielle had to rub her arms over the silk of her dress to warm herself.
Apparently, Lord Fedryc didn’t like warmth.
The sound of the wind blowing lured her toward the bedroom, despite her initial misgivings. She pushed the heavy wood door separating the two rooms, and stared at the most glorious view she had ever seen. Her feet moved over the polished stone floor of their own accord, and soon she stood before an open window, under the harsh, cold wind of a desert night.
As her eyes widened, she stared at a night sky filled with so many stars, they made her dizzy. The desert below was no less spectacular, with its sparse, parched grass and skeletal trees, far below and as far as the eyes could see. How far away she was from the filthy, cramped alleys of the low capital, where she was born and had spent her entire life. Now she was in the desert, in the Draekons’ fortress, surrounded by nothing but splendor and death. Even if she managed to slip outside the castle and run away, she had little hope of getting out of this desert alive. She turned and looked at the window, carved out of the sandstone of the cliff, a tribute to the power of Lord Aymond Haal, who had ordered a fortress carved out of the stone in the desert at the center of his kingdom. A place only a dragon could love.
Marielle was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a door opening. She hurried out of the bedroom, but not fast enough. As she stepped into the living room, she spotted a tall, dark-haired young woman standing in the middle of the place, her silver eyes trained steadily on Marielle, aristocratic eyebrows lifted in surprise.
At her feet was a beast the size of a large dog, covered in scales the shocking color of pure gold. The beast looked steadily at Marielle with eyes the same color as his scales, without flinching or blinking. Its long tail flipped in the air with irritation. Its body was long and lean, and its four paws tipped with talons several inches long. It had a long snout and upright ears that lay flat against its head in what looked like anger.
It was a dragon, but it couldn’t be. It was way too small.
This was the first time Marielle had seen a dragon at such close quarters—except for when she found Nissar, but the beast had been dead then, and she hadn’t paid it much attention.
The small size of the beast intrigued her. Lord Aymond had sometimes landed in the capital atop his green dragon, albeit never in the low neighborhoods where she lived, but even from that distance, she could see the animal was massive, as large a house. Maybe this creature was a juvenile. The notion of a baby dragon was foreign, but it stood to reason that dragons, just like any other creature, were born small.
“Marielle Jansen?”
The girl stared at her, her porcelain-doll face blank of any emotion, her small, round mouth painted a bright red. She seemed younger than Marielle’s twenty-two years, and very pretty. Her skin was smooth and pale, and her large silver eyes, lined with rings of pure gold, contrasted strongly with her black, silken hair. She wore a dark red dress with black lace trim around her neckline, matching her lips and hair. Beside her, the tiny dragon cocked its head, looking straight at Marielle with almost human, intelligent eyes.
“Yes.” Marielle patted her own tattered dress, acutely aware of her ragged appearance. “Who are you?”
“My name is Silva, and this is Hyrio.” The girl exchanged a glance with her dragon, then looked back at Marielle. “Isobel Haal is my mother.”
“Oh.” Marielle swallowed, pushing saliva down a suddenly tight throat. Isobel Haal had been the one who had sentenced her to death, without so much as meeting her. “I am sorry about your uncle. I didn’t hurt him, I swear.”
