Page 38 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“You convinced her, did you?” he snorts. “Took you long enough.”
“I required some persuading,” I say. “You’re both free to come outside while I finish up in the house. Then we can talk about who is carrying what.”
“Before we leave the mainland, I have an errand to perform,” Fortunix says. “I must find a soldier of Vohrain and give him a message from Prince Kyreagan.”
Ashvelon arches his neck. “I know of no such mission.”
“Because the Prince gave it to me personally,” Fortunix replies. “Our warriors left Elekstan in great haste, but there are still matters to be dealt with—bargains to be completed, compensation to be given. I am tasked with arranging a meeting place for those concluding affairs.”
“Very well,” replies Ashvelon. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, you wait here with the enchantress. See that she doesn’t change her mind.” Fortunix heads for the stable doors, and I step aside to avoid being raked by the spikes along the edge of his huge wing. Ashvelon hisses sharply as the spikes come perilously close to my face, but Fortunix doesn’t seem to notice or care.
I follow the older dragon outside, watching while he ambles across the pasture, then lumbers toward the peak of a dune. After several struggles with his aged bulk and his stiff wings, he manages to take off.
Ashvelon comes out of the barn and stands beside me, watching his companion depart. The sun is setting in the west,behind us, as we face east toward the sea. The grasses atop the dunes are like gilded feathers, and the sky is a deep, dark blue where it meets the ocean.
“How long do you think it will take him to find a Vohrainian and deliver the message?” I ask.
“Perhaps an hour. Perhaps all night.” Ashvelon watches me with those ice-fire eyes. His wings are partly extended to catch the breeze, as if he has missed the feeling of it.
Katlee used to refer to a certain kind of look as “fuck-me eyes.” I’ve never thought that a dragon could have “fuck-me eyes,” but this one certainly does. His lashes, thick and dark, droop over the incandescent blue of his gaze. He’s licking his lips again, nostrils flaring as if to catch my scent.
“You look as if you want to eat me.” I chuckle faintly.
“It’s all I can do not to taste you,” he admits. “Though I’d prefer doing so without all that fabric in the way.” He jerks his muzzle toward the purple gown I’m wearing.
“I thought it appropriate to dress up for my first meeting with the dragon prince.”
“It covers more of you than the other purple thing.”
“Human clothes come in a variety of styles,” I explain. “Some are meant for lounging on the beach, and others are for more formal occasions, such as a meeting with royalty.”
“So clothing can show respect?”
“Yes.”
“It also comes in different colors, yes? Yet you only wear purple.”
“That’s not the only color of clothing I wear, but it is my favorite, so yes, I own a lot of purple clothes.”
“Purple.” His tone gives weight to the word, like it’s important. “I like your clothing, but your bare skin is better. Will you show it to me again, before Fortunix returns?”
“I…” Shit, why am I so tempted to strip for him? Is it odd that I find him undeniably alluring, even in this form? My hands are shaking—actuallyshakingat the mere prospect of being naked in front of this gigantic dragon who wants to taste my skin.
“Stop staring at me,” I order, and he immediately swivels his long neck and gazes in the opposite direction.
I pull a flask of rum from the pocket of my dress and take a swig. I bought the flask—and a bottle to refill it with—from a pirate crew that anchored nearby a few months ago. Devil’s Kiss is more hospitable to pirates than other towns farther up the coast, which suits me just fine. Pirates tend to have unique wares and stories from wonderful places. Last time they came here, I took two of the crew to bed after they’d had a proper wash, and it was very good fun.
What I’m considering now is more daring and taboo than a threesome with a pair of pirates.
The liquor scorches the back of my throat, stirring a faint burn in my belly. I screw the cap back onto the flask and contemplate the dragon—the majestic shape of his wings, the strength of his body, the contour of his slender neck, the spikes at the corners of his jaw. His scale-plated chest is heaving, and his enormous claws are dug into the turf. Everything about his stance screams violent desire and restrained force, held back by sheer willpower—something he has in very limited supply.
I feel the same pull. I share the same impatience, the same affinity for personal pleasure. I tend to grow swiftly attached to habits that make me feel good, and his personality, blended with his penchant for naughty play, is uniquely enticing.
“Fuck it.” I walk past the pile of supplies, into the stables. “Come on.”
He whirls to follow me so fast that his tail slams against the building, making it shake so hard I’m afraid it might collapse. I stand frozen, watching until I’m convinced it’s still sturdy. “Careful, pet.”
