Page 6 of Dragons' Mate
“No.” He clicks his tongue and of course Rook listens, picking up a lope.
The path we take winds deep through the heart of the forest. Silver birches loom up on either side, their white bark glowing eerily. In the distance, the mournful call of a lone wolf reverberates, echoing in the stillness. I take comfort in it being a lone wolf instead of a pack of hungry coyotes.
After a while though, the scent of damp pine needles mingles with the musky aroma of horse sweat, grounding me to the night ride. Quinton's steady grip on the reins and his arm firm around my waist is a comforting anchor amid the eerie backdrop. Not that I intend to tell him that. I do however feel myself relax, especially as the road widens and flattens.
“You should sleep,” Quinton says into my ear as we pass a herd of deer grazing at a distance. The animals lift their heads as we pass, their eyes reflecting the moonlight with an otherworldly glow. They scatter as we get closer though, their swift, graceful movements painting a mesmerizing tableau against the night sky.
“Sleep? In the saddle?”
“Unless you’ve suddenly learned to fly, then yes.”
“Well, I’m as likely to fly as sleep while atop this fiend.”
Quinton breathes out an annoyed sigh, then shifts in the saddle, changing the reins to his other hand while he adjusts me against him and covers us both with his cloak. Then he mutters something to Rook and the horse’s gait changes to an even, steady canter. The rhythmic cadence reminds me of being rocked.
“Sleep,” Quinton orders again. “You are no good to anyone exhausted tomorrow.”
I’m about to protest again, but then I feel a soft vibration against my back. A quiet soothing purr that I didn’t know this dragon prince was even capable of. I’m still clinging to that surprised thought when the allure of much needed rest takes me.
By the time the horse’s slowing gate nudges me awake, the first wisps of dawn are already breaking through the horizon and the scents of Massa’eve’s marketplace overpower the faint sweetness of the mount’s sweaty coat.
“This isn’t the palace,” I mutter, rubbing my face. We are on a narrow road dividing the market stalls and their early to rise owners from establishments that seem not to have gone to sleep to begin with. Sounds of various revelry, from rowdy songs and clinking tankards to more overt sounds of rutting escape various buildings, all of which Quinton navigates around with familiar ease.
“Very astute.” Quinton pulls up next to a chocolatier of all places, exchanging coin for a wrapped package without bothering to dismount—or explain what he is doing—then points the horse toward a two-story building that’s tucked away neatly on an adjacent side street.
A discreet polished brass sign names our destination as theSilken Oasis, the black exterior gilded with golden accents separating it from other establishments. Quinton dismounts smoothly then lifts me down from the saddle, my legs nearly giving out upon contact with the ground. Quinton pulls me back against his chest.
“I just need a moment,” I mutter.
“You need to eat.”
“I don’t think that helps with gravity.” I frown at the heavy door to theOasiswhile Quinton hands the horse’s reins to a hostler. “Also, this doesn’t look like a diner. Where are we?”
Quinton opens the door, then pulls away a set of heavy velvet curtains. Only then do I mark the sounds of soft music coming from inside, mixing with the scent of burning incense and coquettish giggles. Another set of several curtains later, we enter a spacious antechamber decorated in orange and yellow hues. Several sconces bathe the space with warm dim lights, wisps of smoke flowering in the brighter patches. A side table and a pair of pillowed benches frame the space, leaving plenty of room in the middle while the wall holds paintings of enamored couples that leave nothing to the imagination.
I pull out of Quinton’s hold and turn to him. “Did you just bring me to a brothel?”
“I did.”
I rub my face. “Why?”
“To see a friend.”
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you just now,” I say. “Especially with me in tow.”
“She.”
Oh good. Quinton's friend is one of the women plying her trade here. Exactly who I want to be meeting within hours of becoming a prince's mate. Before I can press him on the details of what is clearly a brilliant plan, a flock of scantily clad females float into the alcove, their alluring smiles freezing on their faces the moment they behold Quinton.
“My prince,” the lead girl says with a hasty courtesy. Her gaze brushes over my travel-stained clothes, clearly finding both it and me wanting. “It is an honor—”
Quinton’s hand tightens possessively in the middle of my back. “Tell Nadine I require her services.”
“You can tell me yourself.” A female who would be in her fifth decade if she were mortal strides into the antechamber, carrying an aura of authority along with her ageless beauty. The smile she gives Quinton, and then me, has a hint of unexpected warmth. Striding over to us, Nadine kisses Quinton on both cheeks. I'm not sure whether I'm more shocked by her audacity or the fact that Quinton lets her do it.
"I was wondering when I'd have the pleasure of your company again,” Nadine says. “But I gathered it would be tonight."
"And why is that?" asks Quinton.
