Page 14 of Dragons' Bride
Nora isn’t wrong. And yet… I’m not ready to give up on Quinton yet.
“He acted differently on the road,” I tell her.
“I’ll take your word for it. But from all accounts, what you see him like now is what you can expect in Massa’eve. Whatever role he played in the human world, he is returning home now. To his… occupation. Where are you going, my lady?”
“To separate eggs and chickens, apparently.” Spreading my shoulders I stride out of the cabin. The ship is only so large and Nora is right, I have more power than I give myself credit for. Quinton and I need to have a chat.
7. QUINTON
Quinton stood on the highest lookout platform atop the main mast, swaying a hundred feet above the ship's deck. It was as alone as one could get on the ship. He longed to take to the sky, but shifting into dragon form and flying about wreaked havoc with the sails. Plus, Captain Dane preferred to keep a low profile rather than announce to the world that the Phoenix carried valuable passengers. The captain could fight the ship well enough, but avoiding battle altogether was safer. Right now, safe was good all around.
The Phoenix was still a few days out from Faewave Rift, but the air was already becoming charged with a magical energy that made Quinton’s scales shift. Looking out towards the horizon, he could see the rift’s faint outline in the distance, a swath of sea shrouded in a misty purplish veil that shimmered with an unnatural glow. Even the salty breeze now carried a scent of corrupt magic that mixed with the familiar salt and brine. Every so often, a spray of water would erupt from the ocean’s surface, as if an unseen creature from the rift had escaped its hold and was now trying to breach the waves. It all made the crew uneasy – and they were already on edge from Quinton’s presence aboard.
Dane did his best to keep the seamen too busy to overthink things, but whenever Quinton was on deck, the intensity of the fear rippling from man to man was palpable. They knew who he was. What he did for the throne. And they made signs to ward off evil or beg the stars’ protection whenever they thought Quinton wasn’t looking.
Kit likely thought they had the deck to themselves for morning training thanks to the sailors’ courtesy. Quinton knew they cleared away to avoid him. He wished that the human would do the same.
Instead, the girl was downright stalking him for the past two weeks. Trying to corner him into a conversation he made clear he didn’t wish to have. Given what he did to her every morning, pursuing him was the height of insanity – but when it came to Kit, common reasoning didn’t apply.
She wanted something from him, and she was going to dog him the entire voyage. So, yes, Quinton was up here on the platform a hundred feet above the deck because the crew didn’t want him around. But also because the human was scared of heights.
Fortunately, Quinton’s brothers kept Kit busy – and naked – a good deal of the time. When they weren’t gainfully occupied with practicing mating skills, Hauck taught her to throw knives and cheat at cards, and Cyril taught her to read books, to write, and about weather.
Quinton taught her to survive and then left her alone.
After that first day, the rest of the pack left Quinton alone as well. They said nothing about the new bruises they had to work around each day, the sore muscles they kneaded while they explored every inch of Kit’s flesh to tease out new sensations. When Quinton closed his eyes, he could see Kit locking gazes with Tavias, saw the trust behind the fevered desire. She'd no idea what he had planned for her next, but she trusted that the experience would be pleasurable, if not necessarily painless. Tavias was a master at playing pain against pleasure.
The way Kit looked at Quinton was the opposite of anything his brothers enjoyed from her. Each morning, the human visibly braced herself for whatever torment his next orders would bring. For the pain his next throw would cause. There was no pleasure in it for her. And certainly no trust.
Quinton wasn't sorry for any of it.He’d fulfilled all her fears this morning, and planned to do the same tomorrow. And the day after that, and everyday until the bloody trials. He’d not driven her to tears yet, but it was coming. She’d crack under the accumulation of stress. And when she did, Quinton would leave her curled up in a sobbing ball on the deck, forcing the human to pull herself together and get up. And fight.
Quinton knew he was brutal. He also knew he was good. Hauck made him promise to train Kit for real, and Quinton kept his promises.
None of which meant that he wasn’t jealous of his brothers.
A familiar pang rushed through Quinton as the image of the pack with Kit took hold in his mind. He longed to be the one inside her. Touching her. He wanted to taste her on his lips and feel her hot channel squeeze around him. He wanted to hold her as Hauck did, and see her look at him with trust and pleasure, opening her mouth generously. Her whole body. All the things that Quinton had once taken from Hauck, when he’d killed Lola.
Hauck’s calling in his boon hadn’t been just about protecting Kit, it was about punishing Quinton for what he’d taken away from his brother – though it had taken him until now to fully understand that.
The ship rocked with the changing wind, the scent of citrus and cinnamon suddenly filling his lungs. The human’s scent. For a moment, Quinton thought the scent a mirage, an echo of a too vivid memory, but no. It was the human in the flesh. Climbing heights she had no business playing in.
Quinton leaned down through the cutout in the bottom of the observation platform and grasped Kit’s wrist, pulling her the rest of the way up. He’d have shoved her down instead if he could, but they were a hundred bloody feet in the air. Hardheaded as Kit was, she’d not survive the fall. "Who in the hell permitted you to come up here?" he demanded.
"You are here aren't you?" Kit tucked herself against the platform’s low guard rail and sat down. She was wearing the training outfit from this morning and had left her feet bare as well. Seeing her still dressed that way irritated Quinton immensely – he liked it too much. It was his claim over her, a mark of the time of day when she was his alone.
He scowled. "I'm unlikely to break my neck if I fall."
“I’ll try not to fall.” Careful to avoid looking down, Kit pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her citrus and cinnamon scent filled the platform despite the breeze. It was hard to look at Kit without remembering how his brothers had her splayed out on the breakfast table that first morning. She’d screamed in pleasure for them, their joined bodies undulating with primal desire. Quinton still remembered seeing a little drop of sweat on her temple and wanting so badly to lick it off. Just that little bit.
There was no arousal or pleasure – or even sweat – wafting off Kit now. There was determination though, woven together with an edge of fear.
"What are you doing here?" Quinton asked.
"Trying to corner you like a rat. You’ve been avoiding me for nearly two weeks.”
“I see you every morning.”
“At which point you promptly ensure I’ve not enough air in my lungs to form a full sentence.”
