Page 30 of Dragons' Mate
“In Quinton’s defense, that tonic does burn like hell itself,” he told her.
“Oh, that I believe a hundred percent," Kit said, squawking as she dunked her hair into the water and gave it a quick rinse. "I mean, just look at who gave it to us. What I don’t buy is Quinton considering anything that makes him more miserable a bad thing. Can you turn around? I want to bathe and I’m not going inside there.”
“I’ve seen you naked, nymph.” In fact, he’d first touched her bare backside at a stream. Kit’s embarrassed, surprised arousal had been adorable at the time. Back when she’d been skittish around the dragons while Cyril felt so stars-damned confident, taking his right to soothe her for granted.
Now, she glowered at him with no hint of fear. “It’s not the same.”
“I’m not turning my back on you while we are on the trial grounds. It’s not safe.”
She sighed, but settled for turning away and stripping down to the waist before using a small cloth to scrub herself clean. Water dripped from Kit’s wet hair, running along the groves of her shoulder blades and making the tattoo there shimmer in morning light. As if the dragon inked on her skin was alive.
Despite her back being to him, Cyril was tall enough to see that Kit’s breasts were reacting to the chill with predictable tightness—one that his balls uncomfortably echoed.
He quickly splashed some frigid water onto his face and steered the conversation away from the suddenly uncomfortable present moment. “Dragon Tears are difficult to come by, and Quinton’s wounds will be mostly mended by now. I don’t see the harm in saving what’s left of the tonic in case a more dire need arises.”
Kit stiffened. "You mean in case I get hurt."
"That's not what I said,” Cyril hedged.
"It's what you meant."
It was. Only one of the five of them was mortal. "Is that so bad?” Cyril asked. “A mate saving medicine for the other half of his soul?"
Mate. Kit was Quinton’smatenow. Not that Cyril was jealous. Mating to Quinton didn’t make Kit like the rest of them any less. In fact, when it came to intimacy, Quinton had a great deal of ground to cover just to catch up to what Cyril and Kit had already done.
Cyril stifled a sigh as he scanned the treeline for any signs of trouble. Of course he was jealous. Not of Quinton and Kit per se, but from the vibrating connection that crackled between them now. Even when they were a breath away from taking each other’s heads’ off. Especially then.
He wasn’t sure where he stood with Kit now. He wasn’t her captor anymore obviously, and he wasn’t her prince either. Was he her friend? Could he even claim such a title when she knew nothing about the dark side of him?
“Can you hand me my shirt please?” Kit asked. Cyril obeyed, bringing over the garment while Kit rang the remaining water from her blond-dyed hair. She shuddered as chilled water ran down her back, her full breasts jiggling. Cyril was about to step away while Kit refastened her chest binding, when the goose bumped skin along her spine caught his notice.
“Wait.” He ran his hand over her back, following the newly inked designs of Orion’s tattoo. "The scars here. They are gone."
"What do you mean?" Kit asked.
"On the Phoenix, after I lashed you, there were some small scars left afterwards.” Cyril’s jaw tightened. The blood running down Kit's back that day had been a recent feature in his nightmares. “On a fae, the marks would have vanished completely, but human skin is more delicate. There were some marks left. Except now there aren’t.”
Kit shrugged, fastening her clothes. "Maybe they just took longer to heal. Unless you want to chalk it up toOrion’s will.” She dropped her voice in imitation of the priest.
Despite his darker memories a moment earlier, Cyril chuckled.
"If it was her will, it was rather selective,” Kit added, showing him her forearm where the irritated slave brand still remained.
“You really should stop scratching that,” Cyril admonished.
Ignoring him, Kit pushed down her sleeve and tied her sash into place, sheathing the small dagger Quinton had given her. The blade hid nicely under the fabric’s flaps and encapsulated everything that the nymph was: brave, honorable and very small.
"Glad as I am that you are armed," Cyril said, "please don't imagine that poking a dragon with that will accomplish much.”
"You think I’m planning to attack a dragon with a dagger?”
"I think a great many things enter your mind," Cyril said honestly. "And a good number of them are not smart life choices."
“If you are going to start in on my returning to the trials, I’m going to test how well my little dagger works on your fae form,” Kit snapped with enough irritation that Cyril thought she might be serious. A part of him even wanted to see her try. He’d never actually sparred with her. That was another thing only Quinton had done. But this wasn’t the time.
He held up his hands. “I think we are past the point of arguing about your presence at the trials, don’t you?”
“We are.” Instead of being placated though, Kit took a step away. A flicker of hurt flashed over her face.
