Page 6 of Claimed By the Dragon King

I have always considered myself a strong male. Among my kind, I am respected and revered for my strength. And yet… this bond could undo me entirely. If she but asked, I would burn the entire world for her and lay the ashes at her feet.

Is this truly how others experience the bond, or have I fallen under some sort of spell?

Her people claim she is a witch. If this is true, whatever magic she possesses must not be dangerous, else she would have used it upon me already. Unless… her skills are in the art of manipulation. If so, I am already bewitched.

I think again on her powers. I’ve heard the human kingdoms burn those practicing witchcraft, but I thought it only pertained to those that delved into the dark arts. If there was such a darkness around my mate, I would surely have sensed it through our bond.

Movement catches my eye, and I turn to find a stag grazing on a few green springs jutting up from beneath the snow. It lifts its head at the last second of my approach, but too late, and I end him with a quick swipe of my claws.

Despite the presence of the bond, I still have to prove myself. Dragon females only choose the strongest males for their mates—the ones they know for certain will be able to protect and provide for them when they are vulnerable during their nesting period. Carrying my prey back to the cottage, pride swells in my chest. Surely my T’kara will be impressed with such a fine kill.

Even as I think this, I am torn between wanting to prove myself to her as a worthy mate and troubled that the gods have bound us together. Humans are nothing like Dragons, and I worry that our pairing will be… difficult. For her and for me.

When I reach the cabin, I quickly slip inside the door. My T’kara is asleep and lying before the fire, wrapped up in the furs I found for her. Cautiously, I approach, not wanting to startle her awake.

I lower my kill to the floor, laying it before the hearth for her appraisal. I move to stoke the fire and hear her sharp inhalation behind me. I turn to find her eyes wide open, blinking up at me in a look somewhere between worry and bewilderment. “I have brought this for you.” I gesture proudly to my kill.

Extending my dark claws, I slice a line through the carcass and extract the heart. It is the most coveted part—a delicacy among my people—and I present it to her proudly.

She is so impressed her jaw drops as she stares at my offering. “Eat,” I tell her. “This is—”

I stop abruptly as all the color drains from her face, followed by a light verdant tinge. I lean in, studying her curiously. I’ve seen humans pale before, but I’ve never seen them turn green. “Is it normal for your skin to turn green?”

Instead of answering the question, she points to my offering. “Wha—what is that?”

“It’s the heart. It is a delicacy.” I lift my chin and puff out my chest, waiting for her adoration and praise.

“You cannot expect me to eat that,” she says incredulously.

My chest deflates. This is not the answer I expected. I thought she’d be pleased. “Why not?”

“It’s raw.”

I do not understand the problem. “It is fresh,” I point out.

“If I eat meat that is not cooked, I’ll get sick.”

“Cooked? You mean… flamed?”

She nods, and my lips curl back slightly in disgust.

Scorching the meat will ruin the taste. No Dragon would ever think to do this to such a glorious meal. Then again, she is not Dragon. Her human body apparently cannot digest raw meat, nor is it equipped to survive in the ice and snow, I think grimly.

Perhaps this is why the gods paired us—they want me to help keep her alive. As her mate, it is my duty to provide for her.

Extending my sharp claws, I proceed to skin my kill. Her eyes are wide as she observes while I cut several chunks of meat. Recalling her flat, white teeth, I make certain to choose the softest, juiciest bits for her while setting the tougher pieces aside for myself.

When I am finished, I gather the meat I’ve reserved for her and place it upon the hearth. Opening my mouth, I release a stream of flame, cooking it thoroughly. I spear several chunks with my claws and offer them to her. “Here.” She shakes her head, and I arch a brow. “This is for you, female.”

Anger flits across her features. “My name is—”

“Freyja,” I correct. “This is yours.”

The fire leaves her eyes, and she darts a glance at the meat. “It’s too hot.”

“You wanted it flamed, did you not?” It is well-known that humans are fickle, but this is rather extreme.

“Yes, but it needs to cool a bit before I eat it, or else I’ll burn my mouth.”

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