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I want to help him, but I can’t do that while I’m in his mouth, in such imminent danger of being sliced to shreds on his dagger-like teeth.
“Kyreagan!” I gasp. “Put me down.”
Varex appears right by Kyreagan’s head, speaking in a low, urgent tone. “Brother, what are you doing? Release the girl, right the fuck now.”
Kyreagan hisses, but he lowers his head and lets me roll out from between his jaws. Before I can scramble away, he’s on top of me, his great chest pressing against my front, not firmly enough to crush me, but it’s a definite warning to be still. He licks my throat, and a compulsive shudder rolls through him, along with a groan of need.
“Fuck,” I whisper. Heat flares between my legs, roars through my body. Despite the fact that everyone is watching, it’s all I can do not to rake up my skirts and beg him to use his tongue on me.
He wants me. He really does. And with that realization comes the full understanding of why he tried to push me away.
“Be very still, Serylla,” Varex warns. “Give him a moment.” Then, in a stern voice, he orders, “My brother, if you don’t get your shit together, I will have to battle you myself, right now. You said yourself that no woman would be forced by a dragon.”
But Varex doesn’t understand. None of them do. They don’t realize that Kyreagan was my first choice, my only choice, and if he hadn’t stubbornly insisted on a separation, I would have picked him from the start. They don’t understand that Kyreagan’s behavior in this moment isn’t a sign of mating frenzy, but of a devastated heart, an exhausted mind, and a soul in conflict.
Fine… maybe a little bit of mating frenzy.
“It’s alright,” I call out. “He’s not forcing me into this. I choose him. I’m going with him.”
The other women murmur to each other as the dragon prince shifts back to a sitting position, letting me rise. His breathing slows, but his golden eyes still churn with pain, panic, and humiliation. I need to get him away from here so he can recover.
“Sorry,” I tell the shy girl. “You’ll have to choose someone else. The prince is mine.”
She looks disappointed but not devastated as she wanders off toward the scarlet dragon.
“He’ll be alright now,” I say to Varex. “Thank you.”
He bows to me and turns to greet Jessiva, who is approaching him with a bright smile. I could swear she was his devoted lover, instead of the woman planning to kill him. At least he has been warned. He can choose to weather the storm with her, or not.
“Wait here,” I tell Kyreagan. “I’ll get my things, and we’ll go to your cave.”
21
I leave my brother to supervise the remaining matches and ensure that everyone reaches their caves safely. It’s difficult for me to yield leadership entirely to him—I can think of a hundred things he will need to check on or deal with before the Mordvorren hits. Since we’ll be sheltering for several days, everyone must be reminded to keep their caves clean of offal and discard any meat that begins to spoil. Those with a water source inside their cave must take precautions against flooding.
But Varex knows all this. My brother is wise and capable, and he’ll do his best to protect the clan. He must, because I’m in no state to lead. I’ve made a fool of myself in front of dragons and humans alike, all because I hunger so desperately for the girl sitting on my back.
My cave looks quite different than it did this morning. Two animal carcasses hang in the cool darkness at the rear of the cave. Along one wall I arranged our share of the food the women foraged today—berries, mushrooms, seaweed, cresslily stalks, nuts, seeds, and plenty of large, starchy roots like the ones we ate raw during that night on the beach. With my claws, I widened and deepened the channel of the spring, so we’ll be at less risk of the trickle becoming a stream that overflows its usual groove in the floor.
I know Serylla sees it all, understands the provisions and precautions. But she doesn’t mention any of it. She slides off my back, tosses her bundle into the nest, and walks around to my head, her expression serious. “Are you alright?”
“No,” I reply.
“You have the right to be… not alright.” Her eyes hold so much sympathy, so much kindness I can hardly bear it. “Kyreagan, you went off to war while you were still grieving your father—”
“His war,” I say.
She lifts her eyebrows.
“His war. He made me swear a bone-oath that I would uphold his bargain with Vohrain. Bone-oaths cannot be broken.”
“Oh shit,” she whispers. “Ky, I’m so sorry.”
I blink at the shortened version of my name. I think I like it.
“So you joined your father’s war, as a new ruler, still grieving,” she continues. “You slaughtered hundreds of people. You lost loved ones. And while you were grieving them, you made some terrible choices, out of revenge and necessity. Those choices didn’t turn out as you planned, and you had to adapt to Thelise’s spell, to this unexpected shifting between bodies. And now, the Mordvorren. A catastrophic storm. The weight of everyone’s safety and your race’s survival falls on you and your brother, but I think you feel it more deeply than he does.”
“He has his own wounds,” I say. “But he handles dire situations and public speeches better than I do.”
