Page 14 of Davoren
"He stopped counting after the fourth century," Scarlet was saying when my attention returned. "But I maintain the records. It seemed . . . important. To mark the time, even if he chose not to acknowledge it."
Four centuries of waiting, and then he'd simply stopped counting. What did that do to a person—no, not a person. A dragon. An immortal being who measured time in geological shifts rather than seasons. Had the years blurred together until they became meaningless? Had he given up hope? Accepted solitude as his permanent state?
And then I'd stumbled into that cave, bleeding and chained, running from one fate directly into another.
"The bond chose you," Scarlet said quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "That means something neither of us fully understands. Dragon magic is older than human civilization. It operates by rules we can observe but not truly comprehend."
The golden oil had turned the water silky, and I found myself running my hands through it just to feel the texture. Thousands of years of empty beds—did dragons even need beds? Thousands of years of watching other Dragon Masters find their matches while his mark remained dormant. Thousands of years of—
"I'm twenty-two," I said stupidly.
A sound escaped Scarlet that might have been a laugh if women like her laughed. "Yes. The bond doesn't concern itself with human lifespans or sensibilities. It recognizes what it recognizes."
What must I seem to him? A mayfly, here and gone in what, to him, would feel like moments. Even with the bond's protection, even with whatever extended life it granted, I would be a brief chapter in his existence. A fraction of a fraction of the time he'd already lived.
The mark on my shoulder pulsed, and through it came a sensation that wasn't quite emotion but carried the same weight. Denial. Refusal. A dragon's absolute rejection of the idea that I was temporary.
"I can't comprehend it," I admitted.
"No," Scarlet agreed. "You can't. But you don't need to. The bond operates outside human understanding. Accept that, and the rest becomes . . . simpler."
Simpler. As if anything about this could be simple. I sank lower in the water until it covered my shoulders, feeling the heat work its way into damaged muscle and torn skin. The dragon's blood orchids released more perfume into the steam, and I breathed it in, trying to find my balance in this new reality.
Tens of thousands of years.
And now, me.
He materialized through the steam like something conjured from the fevered dreams I'd been trying not to have since our flight. One moment I was alone with my thoughts and Scarlet's precise movements, the next Davoren stood at the pool's edge, as real and overwhelming as when he'd first appeared in that cave.
His white hair was pulled back now, secured with what looked like a dragon scale carved into a clasp. The style revealed the sharp architecture of his face—all angles and shadows that belonged on temple carvings, not living flesh. Those ember eyes tracked my movement as I instinctively sank lower in the water, arms crossing over my breasts, thighs pressing together beneath the golden surface.
"Don't." The word carried that rumbling authority I'd felt on the platform, the one that bypassed thought and went straight to obedience. "Never hide from me, little one. We are bonded. I know your form as I know my own flames."
My arms dropped before I could form the thought to resist. Not magic, exactly—or maybe it was. The mark pulsedwith approval at my compliance, sending warmth cascading through already heated skin. I wanted to be outraged at the manipulation, at the way he could override my will with a word. Instead, I felt exposed in ways that had nothing to do with nudity.
His gaze traveled over me with an intensity that should have felt violating. Instead, it felt like assessment—a general reviewing troops, a merchant cataloguing inventory. But no, that wasn't quite right either. There was appreciation there, definitely, but tempered with something clinical. He wasn't looking at my breasts or the curve of my hip beneath the water. He was looking at the bruise forming on my shoulder, the scratches along my arms, the way I held myself to favor my damaged feet.
"You are mine to protect," he said, moving closer to the pool's edge. Steam curled around him, parting like a curtain. "Mine to tend. Mine to treasure."
The words should have sent me into full rebellion. Property language, ownership, all the things I'd fled from. But delivered in that voice, with the mark singing between us, they hit differently. Not ownership like my father's contracts or Solmar's marriage negotiations. Something older, deeper, more absolute than mere human possession.
He extended his hand. "Come."
I stared at that offered hand, knowing what would happen when I took it. The flight had taught me that much—skin contact with him was like touching the elements, like mainlining pure sensation. But the command in his voice allowed no refusal, and honestly, my traitorous body didn't want to refuse.
I placed my hand in his and let him draw me from the pool.
The contact hit even harder than expected. Lightning and honey, fire and need, all crashed through me at once. My knees buckled, but his grip remained steady, pulling me up onto thestone edge. Water streamed down my body, and I watched his eyes follow the rivulets with an attention that made my insides liquify.
"Towels," he said without looking away from me.
I wondered if he felt lust like me.
I wondered, to my shame, what his cock was like.
Scarlet appeared at my peripheral vision with warmed towels—of course they were warmed, everything here operated at peak luxury—then vanished with a knowing look that promised we wouldn't be disturbed. The click of her heels faded into the distance, leaving me alone with a dragon who could command my body with a word.
Davoren took the towel and began drying me with a gentleness that seemed impossible from someone who could shatter mountains. The cloth against my sensitized skin was torture of the sweetest kind, but nothing compared to the brush of his fingers as he worked. Each touch was medical in intent, checking for damage, assessing injuries. Each touch also sent sparks racing through my nervous system, building heat in places that had nothing to do with healing.
