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Adrenaline races through me, and again I have to contain myself.
The bedroom is dark with the blood-red, velvet curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows. The windows are large enough that my dragon could break free of this room if need be. With the curtains closed, it’s too dark to make out much of the room. I rise from the bed and let a flame blow up my throat and out to light the embers on a shallow, stone shelf that travels along the length of the room. The flames grow in both directions as they slowly bathe the room in soft light. The flames are only a foot or so tall, but the intimidating effect is undeniable.
Given the gasp that comes from behind me, she’s never seen anything like what I’ve just done. My lips pull in an asymmetric smile, but I resist sharing that with her.
I center and contain myself before turning to face her.
The antique carvings in the stone walls of my family’s crest are the first detail to come forward. The shadows and flames give the symbol of my heritage the pride it deserves. It’s been ages since I’ve lit the room, and the sight of the emblem makes me wish I hadn’t grown complacent with the dark. My large bed is draped with fine, gray silk fabrics, offering a canopy of shelter. The sheets and blankets themselves are a mix of grays and blacks woven together by the best seamstresses with the softest of materials. Several large pillows sit tall at the back of the bed. Although I’ve never thought much of it before, it’s a sight of masculinity and wealth and my only comfort apart from my brothers.
As the fire lights the antique furniture in the room, I focus on the small, brave woman at the head of my bed. Her lips are parted in awe as she watches the walls slowly light. Her cheeks are tear stained and her chest is flushed from her struggle. I take the moment to look at her shoulder. The wound isn’t as deep as I thought. She will need to be bathed, but the cut should heal well with a little touch of heat. I won’t need to call a healer. More concerning than the gash is the lack of fat on her body. The scant linen dress she wears is slashed from the whip, and her ribs and spine are easily made out. Anger threatens to consume me, and I resist once more, barely able to contain my dragon.
I will bathe her first and then she will eat. Everything else will be taken care of with time. Carefully and quickly, I round the bed and as I do, the fire cracks, stealing her attention and allowing me to get to her.
I wrap my hands around her waist, taking her attention from the fire and startling her.
“Let go of me!” She turns violently in my grasp and pushes away from me. Her efforts are futile. I ignore the agony her rejection causes. She knows not what she does. She knows nothing at all.
“Hush; there’s no need to yell at me. I have no intention to harm you.” With a trembling lip, she stops fighting and sticks her chin out. As if I cannot smell her fear. As if she could possibly control me. As if she has any authority whatsoever. She makes her demand. “Then let me go.”
I have to repress my chuckle at her defiant command. I do not take orders from anyone. She won’t be any exception.
“I’d rather not.” A quick sob erupts from her lips and her fists clench in response. She turns her face away from me as I lift her and take her to the bath. “I’d just like to keep you company until you are well.”
Even with the fear evident, she holds onto her anger, taking me by surprise.
“So I can be your whore.” Her words are hard and drip with disgust. Her small body is shaking with fear even though her voice is strong.
My blood heats with a touch of fear. I want desperately to breed with her, but I have no desire to make her feel as though she’s merely a toy to be used for my amusement. I hesitate, taking in this beautiful, defiant, yet beaten down woman, debating the best response. One that will let her know I’m attracted to her, that she would be my mate not a whore. But without her consent or desire to be with me, I struggle to find the correct words. I’ve never had a woman deny me, but this situation is a delicate matter.
“I do not want you to be a whore. Not for me or anyone else here.” Doubt is etched into her beautiful eyes. But also, a hint of hope.
“You will come with me,” I tell her firmly as I snatch her up again, holding her closely so she cannot fight. This time, she doesn’t try to push me away.
I gently place her on the wooden bench and turn the tap to fill the bath. I kneel next to her, and I place my hand under the flowing hot water, reveling in the feel. I look at her pale, thin skin and wonder if the water would be too hot. I’ve never cared for another, let alone a human. I take her small hand in mine and grip it tightly as she tries to pull away. I give her a stern look, but her insolence is all I get in return.
“I’d like to know how the heat suits you.”
She pulls her hand from mine and stares into my eyes, warring with me, daring me to fight her. I only have to wait. After a moment, she slowly turns to the running water and lets it flow down her fingers. Her eyes close and a small sigh of wanting leaves her lips. My dragon purrs in my chest, loving the bit of happiness we’ve given her. “Is it to your liking?”
My lowly spoken question shatters the image of her content. She rips her hand away while nodding. Silence fills the room as she stares at the bottom of the large, soak-in tub, watching it fill. I truly despise the fact that she isn’t giving me the respect she should be. She’s obviously unwell and has been through hell with Victor. Rage boils inside of me just thinking his name. I’ll rip his throat out the next time I see him. If I hadn’t been so consumed with her, I would have ended his life before Galen had a chance to tell him to leave.
I’ll let her anger at me pass with a warning and keep my tone soft and gentle. My intent is to charm her, to lure her in, but I can’t set a precedence of her treating me disrespectfully. As she refuses to even spare me a glance, with the water filling the basin and steaming, I’m ever conscious of her state of mind. It’s a difficult line to toe. “I expect you to look at me when I ask you a question.” I do my best to speak calmly and not allow my anger or disappointment to show through.
Her eyes fly to mine but her lips remain closed. I wait a moment for her to acknowledge my words, but she fails to do so. “Do you understand?” She nods slightly, maintaining eye contact, but she doesn’t give a verbal response. I don’t care for that either. A fire rumbles in my chest. “I’d like you to answer me as well.” Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. “You may call me Drago.”
She focuses her attention back to the tub making my anger flare. I repress it once again. “What name do you go by?”
“Kara.” She whispers her name and puts her small hand into the bath, getting to her knees so her fingertips can glide along the surface of the water. The sight of her bent over hardens my dick. I push down my groan. She swallows and looks back at me over her shoulder. Her anger seems to dissipate. Good. I can’t take much more of her resentment.
Kara. What a fitting, beautiful name for her. I love it. I love the way it rolls off my tongue. The sweetness of its whisper, yet strong in its demand.
“I’d like you to tell me about yourself, Kara.” Her eyes look longingly into the bath and then back at me, no doubt wondering if I’ll be here as she washes herself. And I will be. She threatened to kill herself only moments ago. There’s no way I’m leaving her alone. Not only that, the cut along her back needs to be washed properly. I stand, opening the cabinet for appropriate oils, waiting for her to speak. Violet will help the pain. I grab the oil for the bath and continue talking to her. To Kara. My blood heats and my dragon stirs. I must be ever so careful with her.
As I shut the cabinet, our gazes lock. There’s a crack in the tension. Does she feel it too?
She murmurs, still on her knees beside the tub. “What do you want to know?”
“Take your dress off.” Her body stiffens at my request. I narrow my eyes at her. “I need to take care of your wound.”
