Page 35 of Sky Shielder
“Put me down, please.” Syla watched Vorik warily, thoughWreylithshould have concerned her more. Her grip on his shoulders lessened, and she glanced down.
“Are you certain?” Vorik asked. “That dragon attempted to toss you to your death, and she’s still eyeing you.”
Not that Vorik, even with all his battle experience and fighting prowess, could do much to protect the princess from the powerful red dragon if she attacked. Judging by the way Agrevlari was gazing up at the lighthouse—was that whatenrapturedlooked like on the face of a dragon?—he wouldn’t be any help if a battle with this particular individual ensued.
“She… wants me to heal her.” Syla looked toward the lighthouse. “Though she doesn’t seem very injured, and I… didn’t expect to be dropped from such a height.”
Vorik shifted his grip, intending to settle her onto her feet, but the curves of her body pressing against him had some appeal, and he was reluctant to release her. The memory of the general’s orders popped into his mind.
Find the princess and win her trust.
Jhiton hadn’t ordered that seduction be used, but it had been implied. Too bad Syla’s frown didn’t imply that she was in the mood for an amorous display of gratitude. Maybe, later on, after she recovered from the start of being tossed, she would feel more inclined to thank Vorik. Perhaps with a kiss on the cheek. Surely, he deserved that. Especially considering that he’d been distracted by picking the deliciously tart blackberries that grew wild around the base of the lighthouse. A few thorns among the brambles had scratched him, but those had been such minor assaults, well worth enduring to fill his pockets with the juicy treats.
His eyes widened with the realization that Syla might have squished the berries when he’d caught her. Yes, he could smell their fruity scent more strongly than before. At least a few had been crushed. Disappointing. He would have to gather more when he figured out what to do with the princess—and the dragon who’d dropped her into his arms.
“Captain,” Syla said. “Set me down.”
The tension in her body didn’t suggest that she hadkissesor gratitude of any kind in mind. More likely, she believed she was surrounded by enemies and was afraid.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Sighing, Vorik eased her to the ground and released her, though relinquishing her was almost as disappointing as losing the berries. Her curves were, after all, quite intriguing. Unlike the strong but often painfully lean stormer women—memories of sex with the athletic and aggressive Captain Lesva came to mind—Syla had zaftig appeal. Thanks to her sheltered existence as a gardener, she’d been permitted a gentle femininity, a life of ease.
No, Vorik decided as she stepped back, her jaw set, her gaze determined through her spectacles. A healer didn’t likely have a life of ease. People were always getting ill or injured, so she’d probably worked long hours at her temple. As one of the few humans in the world with magic and healing training, her skills had to be in great demand. And, as he knew from personal experience, wielding magic was draining.
After the atypical method of travel, Syla’s dress was askew. She straightened it, though she gripped something in one hand, and wasn’t as effective at smoothing the fabric as she might have been otherwise. Also a pack on two straps over her shoulders inhibited her effort. For a moment, Vorik, thanks to his sharp night vision, got a glimpse of bare flesh. He made himself look away, though a stirring in his groin promised that his body would happily lend itself to the seduction scenario, should that be needed.
Unfortunately, Syla wasn’t interested in that. Notyetanyway.
“If the mighty Wreylith wished you to heal her,” Vorik said, delving into his pockets to check the status of the berries, “that was a surprising way to initiate a temple session.”
“I thought so.” Syla gave her dress a final smoothing and faced the dragon atop the lighthouse.
I did not intend to wound the female,Wreylith spoke telepathically,the words for them all.I’ve interacted with few humans and am not that familiar with the durability of the species on average. I did not know that so slight a drop might harm this one.
Wreylith looked at Agrevlari as she spoke, and Vorik wondered if he’d been the one to inform her that falls of twenty feet could break human bones. Ah, some of his berries had survived. Wonderful. The others… Well, if stains to his riding leathers were the worst he returned home with, he would count himself lucky. He couldn’t resist popping a couple of the berries into his mouth as Syla considered the dragon.
“I… would have needed a healer myself.” Syla lowered her voice to mutter, “Or a gravedigger.”
From her elevated perch, Wreylith cocked her head. She had such power that her eyes glowed slightly, as if the magic inside her could not be fully contained by her body and had to flow out. Vorik had seen that effect on only a handful of dragons he’d encountered in his life and rarely those who deigned to align themselves with humans and take on riders. It indicated great power.
“Never mind.” Syla’s words came quickly, nervously, but she didn’t stumble over them. If this was her first time communicating with a dragon, Vorik was surprised she managed to hold eye contact and speak at all.
He was as used to dragons as a human could be, and he still found himself awed by the raw power that Wreylith exuded.
“How may I help you, uhm, what’s the appropriate way to address a dragon?” Syla asked. “Do you have a name or title that I should use?”
Your sublime magnificenceness,Agrevlari suggested.
Vorik rolled his eyes. “She asked what titlesheshould use, not what you call Wreylith in your fantasies.”
Both dragons gave him baleful looks, and Vorik reconsidered his choice to be sarcastic in this situation. Even though he alwaysteased Agrevlari, something that went both ways, his dragon might not appreciate it in front of witnesses. This witness, in particular. Indeed, an irritated grumble emanated from the green dragon, and a tendril of smoke wafted from his nostrils.
Vorik folded his arms over his chest and raised his chin, also feeling compelled not to be humble—or humbled—in front of a strange dragon.
I am called Wreylith Descended of Wrathadori, Matriarch of the Stormchosen.
Syla hesitated, looking at Vorik. Yeah, the female hadn’t exactly told them how she preferred to be addressed.
