Page 19 of Davoren
"I left it open." He moved into the room with that liquid grace that reminded me he was never truly human, even in this form. "I wanted you to find this. To begin understanding."
He bent to retrieve the dropped dragon, handling it with surprising gentleness before offering it back to me. When I took it, our fingers brushed, and the familiar lightning shot through me.
"I don't understand," I admitted, clutching the toy dragon like armor against my confusion. "The equipment, yes, but this—?" I gestured at the nursery side with my free hand.
"Dragons treasure their mates," he said, his voice dropping to that register that made my bones vibrate. "We protect, we discipline, we pleasure. But we also nurture." He moved closer, and I caught his scent—smoke and spice and possession. "You are young by any measure—especially mine. Twenty-two years against my millennia. The bond recognizes this."
My breath caught as understanding began to dawn. "That's why you call me little one."
"Not mockery but recognition." His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my jaw with devastating gentleness. "You will be my Little, and I will be your keeper. Your protector. Your Daddy, if you choose that term."
The word sent inappropriate heat straight to my core, making me press my thighs together. Daddy. Not father, with all its distance and formality. Something else entirely. Something that promised indulgence and discipline in equal measure, protection and possession intertwined.
"I've never—" I started, then stopped, unsure how to articulate that I'd never even imagined such a dynamic.
"I know." His thumb moved to my lower lip, barely touching. "The bond will teach us both what we need. But know this—in this room, you can be young. Playful. Free from the weight of expectations and proper behavior. You can color with magical paints, read picture books, hold your dragon close when the world feels too large." His ember eyes held mine. "And when you need the other side—when you need to be bound, claimed, pushed to your limits and past them—that waits for you too."
I stood there, stuffed dragon pressed against my chest, caught between two halves of a room that promised to fulfill needs I hadn't known I harbored. My mark burned with anticipation.
"Come," Davoren said, stepping back. "The sun sets, and the contract awaits.
The ceremonial chamber sat at the keep's heart like a secret waiting to be spoken, circular and domed, with walls that seemed to breathe with their own inner light. We'd descended through passages I hadn't seen during my exploration, each level down making my mark burn hotter until I could barely think past the sensation. This was the keep's foundation, the first room Davoren had carved from raw stone when he claimed this mountain as his domain.
Scarlet waited at the chamber's edge, but she looked different—transformed. Her burgundy dress had been replaced by robes that hurt to look at directly, fabric that seemed woven from shadow and flame. Runes crawled across the hem, reshaping themselves when I tried to focus on them. Her auburn hair was bound in a crown of braids, held by pins that looked suspiciously like dragon fangs.
"Seneschal D'Arnisse stands as witness," Davoren intoned, and his voice carried harmonics that made the chamber ring like a struck bell. "The old laws require observation by one who bears no bond but has sworn loyalty to the House."
Scarlet inclined her head, and when she spoke, her usual precision had been replaced by something ancient: "I observe. I witness. I record."
But it was the contract that stole my breath.
It floated in the chamber's center on a pedestal of frozen flame—actual fire that had been stopped mid-burn and crystallized into a support structure. The parchment itself looked alive, its edges breathing like something with lungs, its surface rippling as words appeared and disappeared. This wasn't paper. This was skin—dragon skin, if I had to guess—prepared and preserved through methods I didn't want to contemplate.
"The Caretaker Pact," Davoren said, approaching the floating document. Each step he took left brief footprints of fire on the stone floor. "Modified for our specific bond."
As he spoke, words began appearing on the parchment in golden fire. Not written—born. They emerged from the skin itself like they'd always existed there, waiting for someone to speak them into visibility.
"The Little agrees to submit to her Dragon's protection and guidance." The words blazed across the top of the contract, then settled into a deep gold that pulsed with its own light. "The Dragon agrees to treasure and nurture his Little's growth."
I moved closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the frozen flame pedestal. More words were appearing, terms spelling themselves out in meticulous detail.
"Your submission will not be absolute," Davoren explained, his hand hovering over the contract. Where his fingers passed, subclauses appeared in silver script. "You retain your will, your personality, your fierce spirit that brought you to my cave. But in matters of your safety, your wellbeing, your growth—in these, my word is law."
"And if I disagree with your assessment of my wellbeing?" The question came out steadier than I felt.
His smile was sharp and fond simultaneously. "Then you'll brat, and I'll punish you for it. But the punishment itself becomes part of the care." More words appeared, these in a deep rose color. "Funishment, the contract calls it. Discipline that brings pleasure. Pain that transforms to ecstasy. Your body will learn to crave correction as much as praise."
Heat pooled low in my belly at the thought. My mark practically purred its approval.
"Physical terms," he continued, and now the words appearing were explicit enough to make me grateful for the chamber's dimlighting that might hide my blush. "The Dragon shall have access to his Little's pleasure at will."
The subclauses detailed exactly what that meant. Through bonds of silk or steel—the restraints I'd seen in that room. Through denial—and a helpful note appeared explaining that could mean hours or days of being brought to the edge without release. Through overwhelming provision—multiple orgasms forced past the point of comfort into something transcendent.
"Through pain that transforms," Davoren read aloud, and I noticed his voice had gone rougher. "Impact play. Temperature play. Sensation play that pushes boundaries while respecting limits."
"I want freedom to explore the keep," I said suddenly. "All of it. No locked doors except for true privacy."
"Granted. What else?"
