To Love A Dragon; Venys Needs Men Page 3

  He stared down at the wet, shivering humans. A puddle was forming around the female’s hide-covered feet, turning the thin layer of dirt and dust atop the floor into mud. She stared right back at him, clutching her hatchling close. Her pupils were dilated, her skin was pale but for the tiny brown specks scattered across it, and her pale green eyes were unwavering.

  There was a soft, alluring beauty to her face unlike anything Arysteon had ever seen, even amongst the humans with whom he’d interacted in the past. He’d never found her kind either attractive or repulsive, much in the same way he’d never thought of any animals in such a fashion.

  But humans weren’t animals, and Arysteon had been alone for many, many years…

  She was so unlike a dragon, was in so many ways his opposite, but he could not deny that he was drawn to her.

  What madness has overcome me?

  He had stalked this female and her hatchling through the woods for hours, tracking them first by her enticing scent, then by their sounds, and finally by sight. A single word had echoed through his mind when he had first seen her, a word he could not silence—a word that was still reverberating within him.

  Mine.

  “What more do you require, human?” he asked, admiring the faint glow cast upon her by his eyes.

  She pressed her lips together and steadied herself. “Fire. I-I need to make a fire.”

  His spark crackled in his chest, sending a charged pulse through his body. His lightning could easily ignite a fire, but doing so without harming these humans would require significant delicacy and control. It was the sort of challenge he’d not faced in a long while.

  He found himself eager to meet that challenge.

  Eager to provide for her.

  Arysteon tipped his snout downward. “Will the debris on the floor make suitable fuel?”

  The female angled her face down and glanced from side to side. “I cannot see. It is too dark.”

  Keeping his head low, Arysteon bent his neck to look back. His body was blocking almost all the gray, gloomy light from outside, shrouding the chamber in what must’ve been almost complete darkness for the humans. He’d forgotten how poor their eyesight was in the dark.

  When he was younger, he had always marveled at the stories of the prosperity humans had once enjoyed, and this place was testament to that prosperity. Something about those stories had seemed too fantastical to be true. But now was not the time to wonder how these small, soft creatures, with their short lives and dull senses, had once been so numerous and accomplished.

  Arysteon shifted himself aside, clearing as much of the entryway as he could without crowding the humans. He looked back at the female.

  The dull exterior light reached just far enough inside to fall upon her. She was staring at him again, her gaze steady despite her obvious weariness, despite her trembling, despite the crying hatchling in her arms. Hers was a sort of strength he’d not often witnessed.

  Mine.

  Arysteon’s nostrils flared with a huff. He did not know what had compelled him to bring her here, did not understand why he was making himself so vulnerable, and yet he could not stop himself. All she needed was a single touch—even just a fingertip to one of his scales—and he’d be bound to her forever. His desire, his will, would not matter. He would be mortal.

  He would be hers.

  And he did not want that… Did he?

  Arysteon forced himself to say, “If you gather the fuel, I will provide the spark to light your fire.”

  She nodded. “I will hurry.”

  Arysteon dipped his chin, gesturing to the floor. “You may set your hatchling down. It will come to no harm.”

  The female seemed to clutch the hatchling tighter. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes shifting back and forth as though she were searching Arysteon’s face. For a few moments, she was otherwise unmoving, and then her body sagged as though in sudden resignation. She crouched and placed the hatchling on the floor. The soaked cloth that had been wrapped around the tiny human fell away when the female released her hold and stood up.

  The hatchling’s cries intensified again. It heaved itself forward onto hands and knees and crawled toward the female.

  Her brow knitted, and she frowned as she bent forward to pluck the whelpling off the floor and cradle it in her arms. “Shh. It is all right, Serek. I will be right here. I promised I would not leave you, and I will not break my word. I need only build us a fire.”

  The hatchling’s cries eased into a series of shaky hiccups, and it dropped its head onto the female’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering.

  Something hot and painful curled within Arysteon’s chest, coiling around his heart. When his clan had still walked together, he’d witness scenes like this time and time again. He’d received comfort from his kin, had offered comfort in turn, had been supported by them and supported them. But that had been many, many years ago.

  Arysteon held his breath, resisting his instinctual urge to make a song and soothe the hatchling just as he used to do for the younglings in the clan. Just as his mother and father had done for him. The effort to hold it in was enough to make his throat burn.

  The female set the hatchling down again. She grabbed her bag by its strap, lifted it off over her head, and placed it on the ground. Opening it, she reached inside and removed an orange fruit. She handed the fruit to the hatchling, who took it in both hands and brought it to its mouth.

  Thunder rumbled outside as the female stood. She hesitated, watching the hatchling briefly before she stepped away and hurried around the lair to gather the dry sticks, thick dead roots, leaves, and moss littering the floor, snapping the larger branches in half for ease of transport. The hatchling didn’t even look at her; it was too distracted by the fruit upon which it was gnawing.

  Once her arms were full, the female walked to a spot on the floor that was mostly cleared of debris. She brushed away some of the dirt with her foot, baring the stone beneath, and crouched to set down her burden.

  Arysteon craned his neck, moving his head closer still as the female rose and set about collecting loose stones, most of which were large chunks of shaped rock that had broken off the structure over the long years. She arranged them in a circle around her fuel pile, glancing occasionally at the hatchling, who was still chewing on the fruit and babbling contentedly with drool trickling down its chin.

  When her stone circle was complete, the female knelt over it and arranged the sticks, moss, and leaves. She paused a few times to collect more sticks, adding some to the arrangement within the stones and piling others nearby in a more haphazard fashion. Finally, she stood up, brushed her hands off on her clothing, and looked at Arysteon. She seemed slightly unsteady, her skin a shade paler than when they’d first arrived here.

  “It is ready,” she said.

  Though he knew he should have kept his distance, Arysteon moved closer to the female, dipping his head to study her work. She swayed back but did not retreat.

  He was so near to her now that he could smell her clearly even without catching the air on his tongue. It took a surprising amount of willpower to ignore the warm, tingling sensation that her scent reawakened within him.

  All she would have had to do was lift her hand and lean forward, and her soft skin would meet his scales and…

  Arysteon grunted and curled his fingers, scraping his claws over the floor. The spines along his spine and tail flared briefly. What had overcome him today?

  “Take the hatchling and back away,” he said, his voice unnecessarily harsh even to his own ears.

  The female nodded. She walked over to the hatchling, slung her bag over her shoulder, and lifted the tiny human into her arms, carrying it toward the entrance.

  Arysteon tensed, his chest suddenly tight and hot, and barely resisted the instinctual drive to give chase. That tension eased when the female stopped just before the entryway and turned to face him, though the heat in his chest did not fade.

  For an instant, h
e had thought she was going to leave.

  And what if she had? She is not beholden to me.

  But that word rose from his core again, blasting through his mind in a bestial snarl.

  Mine.

  He drew in a deep breath, hoping it would clear his mind, but her fragrance lingered on the air, her taste lingered on his tongue. A shudder ran down his spine all the way to the tip of his tail. Arysteon clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus on the smell of the storm instead. Rain usually instilled him with serenity, comforting him in a way little else could since the loss of his clan.

  He needed to find that calm, needed to achieve that stillness of mind now. His spark was always amplified during weather like this. He needed to concentrate on controlling it, lest he injure the humans.

  Arysteon turned his attention back to the kindling the female had arranged and called upon his spark. It crackled within him, and its power thrummed across his scales. Lightning buzzed in his chest, eager to escape—hungry for anything it could strike.

  He focused that power down, muscles straining to maintain control. Holding his breath so as not to unintentionally disturb her arrangement, he dipped his head close to the kindling, parted his lips, and released a single, tiny bolt of lightning. Small as it was, it briefly illuminated the large chamber—the carved stone columns, several of which were tilted or fallen, the sculpted walls that were mostly overgrown with tangled roots, and the worn stone of the floor.

  Arysteon clamped his mouth shut, cutting off the flow of power, and lifted is head. Smoke curled from the fuel, and the small orange flames at the base of the pile quickly grew as more of kindling ignited.

  The female ran across the room and dropped to her knees next to the fire. Carefully setting the hatchling on the ground beside her, she snatched up a stick from the nearby pile, bent forward, and used the stick to shift the wood and kindling, spreading the flames more evenly. Within moments, there was a respectable blaze within the little stone circle.

  The female sat back on her haunches and closed her eyes, body sagging. Her features were tight—brow creased, lips pressed flat together, eyelids squeezed shut. Her expression eased when the hatchling, having dropped the fruit, reached out and grasped her arm.

  When she opened her eyes again, she turned them up to meet Arysteon’s.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. Absently, she curled an arm around the hatchling, steadying the little human as it crawled onto her lap.

  Arysteon found himself once again holding back a song, though this one was quite different in nature than those used to soothe younglings. This song threatened to rise from his core, from his very spark, and he knew without letting it out that he’d never produced it before.

  It was a song meant only for his mate.

  The wind flowed into the chamber through the opening, creating little swirls of dust on the floor and kicking up loose leaves. The female’s fiery hair fluttered around her face as that wind swept over her, and she shivered. Without conscious thought, Arysteon repositioned himself in front of the opening, blocking as much of it as he could with his body.

  Lightning flashed outside, but little of its light entered the chamber; Arysteon felt it more than he saw it. A peal of thunder followed a few heartbeats later as he eased himself down onto his belly.

  His tail curled toward the humans of its own accord, settling on the floor with its tip nearly within arm’s reach of the female.

  She removed her bag, placing it on the floor beside her, and added some more sticks to the fire before glancing over her shoulder at Arysteon. “Do you…have a name?”

  “I am called Arysteon.”

  “Arysteon,” she repeated softly. She lifted the hatchling with one arm, using the other to spread out the wet, fallen blanket in front of the fire. “I…must admit I did not expect you to have one.”

  “You did not expect me to have a name?”

  “I did not know your kind even existed anymore. Dragons were nothing more than old stories to my people, and most of those stories make you seem like”—she cringed—“beasts.” She reached up to uncurl the hatchling’s fingers from her hair, though her eyes remained on Arysteon. “I am sorry. I mean no offense.”

  Arysteon couldn’t hold back an amused snort, and made no effort to stop the chuckle that followed it. “I take no insult from your words, female. There is no shortage of dragons whose behavior is more befitting of beasts. Or at least there was no shortage, many years ago.” He cocked his head. “I have heard you call the little one Serek. Is it male or female?”

  She opened her bag, withdrawing a larger, dry blanket and wrapping it loosely around the hatchling’s shoulders. She sat him on the floor beside her, and there was a hint of sorrow in her voice as she said, “He is male.”

  Though he did not know the reason for her sadness, Arysteon felt it tugging at his heart, coaxing him to move closer, to comfort her. He laid his head on the floor instead, keeping an eye toward the humans. There was no reason to move closer—it would only enhance the risks of an unwelcome touch.

  But is her touch truly so unwelcome?

  Arysteon thrust that thought aside; he would not allow his mind to wander along that path any farther. “And what is your name, female?”

  She looked at him. Her eyes, now brightened by firelight, were the same pale green as hanging moss, or of long midsummer grass. “I am Leyloni.”

  “Leyloni,” he purred, unintentionally producing a hum in his throat. That hint of music seemed to suit her name perfectly. “It has been a long while since I have seen any humans.”

  She tilted her head. “You have been around humans before?”

  “I have, though the last encounter occurred a great many years ago.”

  Serek’s eyes fluttered, his head lolled, and his body tipped backward. The hatchling jerked as though suddenly waking and released a small cry. Leyloni made soft, soothing sounds and guided Serek to lie down, adjusting the cloth she’d wrapped around him to cover a little more of his skin. The whelpling made another tiny whimper and settled, eyes closing.

  Arysteon again found himself battling a longing to move closer, to croon to the whelping, to offer comfort and security.

  “Is that why you speak my language?” Leyloni asked, drawing his attention back to her. She was leaning forward as she unlaced her foot coverings.

  “Yes. I cannot speak for other sorts of dragons, but my clan dealt frequently with humans. The draconic tongue is rather difficult for humans to speak. My elders always said it was easier for us to learn your language than for you to learn ours.”

  She tugged off her foot coverings and set them next to the fire. “Where are your clanmates?”

  A pang of loss, sadness, and guilt struck Arysteon’s heart, making his spark stutter. His immortality mattered naught in this—whether it had been one day or ten thousand years, his sorrow would always remain.

  “They have all long since passed. Some wandered off to seek their own way, many more perished. So far as I know, only I remain.”

  Leyloni frowned and looked away, but not before Arysteon glimpsed the raw grief in her eyes. “I am sorry for the loss of your clan.”

  “I have made peace with it.”

  She settled her gaze on Serek again. “Peace does not mean your heart has healed.”

  Arysteon could barely resist his compulsion to go to her, to touch her, to ease whatever burden was weighing her down. That would have been easier than acknowledging his own loneliness and pain.

  “Perhaps not always, but hearts are resilient things. They can heal. The chasms torn open by loss can close, given time.” The end of his tail rose off the floor and settled back down again—nearer to Leyloni than before. “What has brought you out here, Leyloni? Why are you and your hatchling in these wilds alone?”

  “Serek…is not mine.” She tore her gaze away from the hatchling to look back at Arysteon. “Our village was attacked. I fled with Serek to protect him.”

&
nbsp; Memories stirred in the back of Arysteon’s mind, some of which were the oldest he could recall. His clan had suffered many attacks during their long years of wandering—most of them from other dragons. Battles over territory, over food, over mates, always more violent and intense during those periods when the red comet was in the sky.

  He could relate to the emotion in Leyloni’s voice. It ignited a fire in his heart, made his mouth feel dry, and instilled him with an underlying anger. He had the sudden urge to destroy whatever had harmed these humans.

  “What of the rest of your clan?” he asked.

  Her brows fell, and she shook her head.

  Arysteon exhaled slowly through his nostrils. “I am sorry for the loss of your tribe, Leyloni.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. Bringing her hands up, she scrubbed her palms over her face and swept her damp hair back. When she pulled her hands away, she stared at them for a few moments. Moisture gleamed on her fingers. Frowning, she lifted a corner of her wet skirt, letting it drop to the floor with a wet slap.

  Leyloni took in a deep breath before standing. Her shadow grew long in the firelight, and the dancing orange glow granted her an ethereal quality that only strengthened the strange pull she had on Arysteon. She lowered her hands to her waist, removed her belt, and unlaced her skirt.

  Arysteon watched, transfixed, his claws digging into the stone floor as she pushed the skirt down her legs and laid it and her belt out on the ground beside the wet blanket.

  She moved her hands to the lacings of her top next, pulling them loose to reveal the upper curves of her chest mounds—her breasts. That was what humans called them.

  His breath caught in his throat when she pulled the top off over her head, baring herself to him fully. Leyloni was lithe of limb, with just a hint of muscle tone visible through her pale skin, which was sprinkled with those curious brown speckles everywhere. He was enticed by her full breasts and their pink nipples. Were those mounds as soft as they appeared? Was she as soft as she appeared?