Page 15 of Dragons' Bride
“So get better.” He crossed his arms and glared down at her. "What do you want, Kitterny? Are my brothers failing to satisfy your needs?"
She blushed. Quinton didn't know how she managed to still blush so easily, but she did. It was one of the things that made her irresistible. "The princes are more than adequate, thank you. I didn't know that the scales on your cocks did... well, did that."
"Now you do." Quinton returned his attention to the ocean. The vast blue plain stretched out in all directions, reminding him of the night sky. Beautiful and deadly at the same time. Especially the purple magic of the approaching rift.
"Why did you leave that first day?" Kit asked. “Why are you avoiding everyone all the time?”
"Clearly you and I didn’t dance hard enough this morning if you are still so eager to seek my company. I’ll try to correct that tomorrow.”
Kit sighed, then said nothing for a while, just sitting there while the silence tore everything inside Quinton to shreds. She had no idea what she did to him. Never would. Being so close to her while knowing he could never breach the chasm separating them was a special kind of torture.
"I'm sore," she said finally.
"So?"
"My sex and my ribs the most. I think everything from the top of my head to my toes hurts in one way or another."
"Was there something that made you imagine I care?" Quinton shrugged and returned his attention to the ocean. "If you’ve come to whine about training being too hard, save your breath. If you do what I tell you, there is a chance you’ll walk off deck with fewer bruises tomorrow. I doubt it, but it's possible."
"You are being an ass, Quinton. And you are doing it on purpose. Why? Did I do something?”
You’ve no idea what you do to me.“I'm not being an ass – I am an ass. Have you not worked that out yet?"
Instead of giving up, like any sane person, she stretched her legs out in front of her. "You know, I think this is the longest conversation we've actually ever had."
"Good time for it to end then." He pointed to the entrance through which Kit had climbed up. "Go back to the deck."
She ignored the order. "I was hoping you could heal me. There is a bruise across my ribs that aches whenever I take too deep a breath.”
Quinton felt his back go rigid, his scales tucking tight along his spine. Heal her. Touch her. Feel his magic flowing through her body, the echoes of intimacy tormenting his soul. He couldn't do it. Not even if he wanted to. Cordelia’s death had reminded him of his limits – and of the dangers that playing with magic could bring, especially in a human’s fragile anatomy. The more he went over everything he’d tried with Cordelia, the more he feared he’d made things worse. He’d healed the superficial wound, but had he spurred the infection to spread through her blood while he was at it? Had closing off the skin trapped poison that might have escaped? Had his magic simply put too much strain on Cordelia’s body, leaving her with no strength to fight off the fever?
It hadn’t mattered at the end, but Quinton knew the truth. He’d gotten brazen. Had forgotten that blood-magic carried no less danger than a surgeon’s knife. "I can't heal you."
"You did before," said Kit. "That first day after riding when you helped with the saddle sores."
He remembered. She'd been terrified of him, but her essence had washed over Quinton like a tsunami, tearing open the hard-earned calluses inside his soul. The primal urge that gripped him next had been so unexpected, that Quinton nearly tried to take the girl right there in the clearing. Fortunately, Cyril had put a stop to that before it started.
“I shouldn’t have tried it then, either,” said Quinton. "I kill. Healing is a different occupation."
"You've done it before," Kit insisted stubbornly. Whatever agenda she had went deeper than healing a bruise. "If you tried, maybe it would –"
"I don'twantto heal you, human," Quinton snapped, a growl following his words. He rose to his full height, spreading his shoulders and scales. He braced his hands on the rail, one on either side of her slim shoulders. Taking over her space. Suffocating her despite the blowing winds that were picking up their pace. "You hurt? Good. You should hurt. Maybe it will help you remember how fragile your body is. My job is to keep you alive, not make you comfortable. Have I made myself clear?"
She flinched, hurt flashing in her gaze. "Yes."
"Yes, what?" Quinton pressed.
"Yes, my prince," Kit whispered.
Quinton took a step away, giving her room to breathe again. But instead of tucking her tail and slinking away from the observation platform like any smart person would do, she shook herself and rose to face him. Determination lined her face, the rushing wind streaming her hair back.
"Why do you bend over backward to ensure I hate you?" she called over the rising noise. “You’d kissed me in that field with Hauck. So what changed? Or has it nothing to do with me at all? Do you shove everyone away in whatever hurtful way you can find? What are you trying to do, Prince of Massa’eve?”
"I am what I am," Quinton growled. He needed to get away from Kit and her all too sharp observations. Why couldn’t the human just be petrified like everyone else and stay out of his way? "Get out of here. I don't want to lay eyes on you until training tomorrow. Understand?"
"Yes, my prince." She managed to make the title sound like a curse. The human had no self-preservation instinct at all, which was annoying as all hell. But at least she was in motion now, making her way to the hole at the bottom of the platform and eyeing the long climb down. From as high as they were, the deck did look elusively small.
She really should never have come up there.
