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He’s asking rather than demanding. A pitiful improvement.
By way of answer, I relinquish my dragon shape and return to that of a woman. Shivering, I hug myself against the cold.
Rook leaves me standing in the rain. Frowning, I follow him out of the ravine. He retrieves the cloak I abandoned. He drapes it over my shoulders. Rain pearls on the wool but doesn’t soak through. Unfortunately, I’m still wet and shivering underneath. I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering.
He touches my cheek, just a brush of his fingertips. “Damn, you’re freezing.”
“I wouldn’t be if I were still a dragon.”
“Let me take better care of you.”
My breath escapes in a sigh. Deep in my gut, I want so desperately for him to care for me and protect me.
“Promise me you will stay a woman,” he says. “At least for tonight.”
“Tonight?” My heartbeat stumbles. What does he want from me?
“We will go into town. Get a hot dinner and a warm bed.”
I’m sure the bed would be even warmer with him in it, but I won’t say that aloud and tempt fate.
* * *
The nearest town is Havenwold,north beyond the outskirts of my territory.
Rook lends me some of his clothes, so I don’t walk into town naked under his borrowed cloak, though he doesn’t have a pair of boots for me. Since I’m barefoot, he lets me ride Bolt again.
We stop at The Raven’s Head, an inn that leaks music and laughter into the night. Rain thickens the purple hush of evening. Lamplight glitters on the slick black cobblestones and transmutes the water in gutters to gold.
When I hop from the saddle, my stiff legs betray me, and I stumble.
Rook catches me by the elbow. “Steady.”
I’m rigid with tension. I haven’t been to Havenwold in years. Well, not any closer than flying overhead.
Will the townsfolk sense the dragon within me? Will my eyes flash in the darkness, or my teeth gleam a little too sharp?
“Are you all right?” Rook asks, his voice barely louder than the rain.
I nod and don’t voice my fears.
Rook leads Bolt to the stables and tosses a coin to the stable boy. There’s nothing left to do but go inside The Raven’s Head. He holds the door open for me.
“After you,” he says.
When I step inside, warm air washes over me with the scents of bread, sausages, and beer. I wince at the din of voices raised over music. A minstrel belts out a bawdy song as he strums his lute.
The men at the nearest table gawk at us. One of them even ogles my breasts.
“They’re staring at us,” I mutter.
“Don’t stare back,” Rook says.
He hunts down the innkeeper before paying for a room for the night.
Rook picks at the mud and blood on his shirt. “I need a bath.”
“Of course. I can have one brought to your room.” The innkeeper’s eyes narrow. “You’re a cambion, aren’t you?”
