Page 12 of Sereis
I turned to respond and froze—he'd begun to change.
Sereis shifted like water finding its course, dragon form flowing into something else with a grace that made my mouth go dry. Ice became flesh in waves, scales receding like tide, revealing skin so pale it seemed to glow with its own inner light. The frost patterns from our bond were already there, spreadingacross his chest and arms like living lace, each swirl and curve exactly matching the ones burning cold on my shoulder.
For three heartbeats, he stood completely naked in the swirling snow.
I couldn't look away. Couldn't pretend I wasn't staring. His body was lean where Davoren's human form had been broad, elegant lines of muscle over a frame that spoke of speed rather than strength. But it was the evidence of his arousal that made heat pool between my thighs—his cock was magnificent and substantial, proud, making it absolutely clear that whatever control he projected was a careful facade over desperate want.
The bond sang between us, and I felt his awareness of my watching. Felt his pleasure at being observed, his satisfaction at my obvious response. My cheeks burned despite the cold air, but I didn't drop my gaze. Couldn't. The sight of him had imprinted itself behind my eyelids.
With a gesture that seemed almost lazy, he summoned robes from the air itself. White fabric materialized around him, covering that perfect form, but not before I'd memorized every line, every angle, every inch of pale skin etched with blue that I suddenly, desperately wanted to touch.
"Come," he said, his human voice carrying harmonics that hadn't been there before—layers of meaning that the bond translated into promise and threat and need barely controlled. "Let me show you your new home."
He extended one hand, and I saw how his fingers trembled slightly—this ancient, powerful being affected by our connection. The frost patterns on his visible skin pulsed brighter when I placed my hand in his, and the contact sent lightning through every nerve. Not the violent electricity of touching Caelus, but something deeper, colder, that made me think of winter nights and warm beds and bodies pressed together for heat.
"The door," he said, gesturing to an archway that absolutely had not been there seconds before, "will take us directly to my private wing. The palace responds to need."
As he led me through, I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the ice wall—him tall and ethereal in white robes, me small and disheveled in the ruins of servant's clothes, both of us marked with matching frost patterns that glowed like stars. We looked like something from the fairy tales my mother used to tell, before the debts, before the selling, before everything fell apart.
But fairy tales never mentioned how the prince's thumb would stroke across your palm as he walked, each touch sending heat straight to your core. Never described the way dragon magic would make every sensation feel like drowning in honey.
The door closed behind us with a sound like ice forming over deep water, and I knew there was no going back. Not from this place. Not from him. Not from what we were becoming together.
His study seemed impossible—the walls were too far apart for the tower we'd entered, and the ceiling showed stars despite three floors above us—but I'd stopped questioning impossibilities the moment we'd passed through his door. Books lined every surface, but these weren't ordinary volumes. The words crawled across their spines like living things, rewriting themselves as I watched, shifting from languages I recognized to scripts that hurt to perceive directly.
"Dragon histories," Sereis explained, moving to a cabinet carved from what looked like frozen starlight. "They record themselves, updating as events unfold. That one—" he gestured to a massive tome whose pages flickered like aurora borealis, "is writing about you right now."
My name in dragon script. The thought made me shiver, though the room was warm despite being made entirely of ice. Everything here was contradiction, paradox, impossibility made manifest.
He poured wine from a decanter that materialized in his hand, the liquid steaming despite being cold enough to frost the crystal glasses. When he handed me one, our fingers brushed, and I nearly dropped it from the jolt that shot through me. The bond hummed its satisfaction at even that small contact.
"Drink," he said softly. "It will help you adjust to the altitude and cold."
The wine tasted like winter starlight, if such a thing had flavor. It burned cold down my throat, spreading warmth that had nothing to do with temperature through my chest. I could feel it changing something in me, preparing my body for what was to come.
"The bond activated," Sereis said, settling into a chair that shaped itself to his form. I remained standing, too nervous to sit, too aware of how the remains of my dress barely covered me. "But activation and sealing are different things. Right now, we're connected but not . . . committed."
The way he said 'committed' made heat pool in my belly. There were layers of meaning there the bond helped me parse—legal, magical, intimate.
"To seal requires the Caretaker Pact." He gestured, and a scroll materialized on his desk. Not paper—dragon skin, with writing that glowed silver-fire against the pale surface. "It must be signed in blood during the correct celestial alignment. The next opportunity is tomorrow night."
I approached the desk slowly, drawn by terrible curiosity. The words were in multiple languages, some human, some dragon, some older than both. But the bond translated them directly into my understanding, and what I read made my cheeks burn hotter than shame.
Terms of protection and submission. Clauses about discipline that made my thighs clench. Descriptions of a dynamic that went beyond simple dominance—Daddy and Little, caretakerand cherished, protector and protected. Every word was chosen with precision, every clause carefully crafted to establish not just magical binding but emotional, physical, complete surrender and acceptance.
"These terms . . ." I couldn't finish, my voice catching on implications that made my body respond in ways that confused and thrilled me.
"I've been preparing this for eight hundred years." His fingers ghosted over the parchment with something approaching reverence. "Adding clauses as I learned what I wanted. Refining terms as I understood what I needed. Imagining—" He stopped, his carefully maintained control showing cracks. "Every century, I added something new. A protection here, a pleasure there. Building the perfect framework for when I finally found you."
Eight hundred years of loneliness, of preparation, of hope. The weight of it pressed against my chest like a physical thing.
"But there are complications," he continued, voice hardening. "Caelus will demand your return. You're still technically his property—the trial isn't resolved. And Davoren . . ." He paused, and through the bond I felt his fury, cold and deep as winter lakes. "Davoren will call for my head. He also consider you his."
"But I'm not—"
"He considers me guilty. The penalty is death, and all of the possessions of the guilty become those of the accuser." Sereis's jaw tightened. "He has a claim. The Council will have to decide, and they're not known for swift judgment. We could be facing years of legal battles, unless—"
"Unless?"
