B00CGOH3US EBOK (6 page)

A strange noise drew her attention to the mouth of the cave, raising chills along her naked skin. She hugged the fur tighter. There, silhouetted against the vivid orange and magenta of a brilliant sunset, sat the dragon. It gazed off into the distance, its wings spread wide as if trying to catch the last warm rays of the sun. A low, keening moan began and she watched in fascinated horror as its body twisted and contorted on the ledge.

The creature was…changing.

Jill rubbed her eyes. She had to be seeing things. In profile, the long snout receded and the spikes running down the creature's spine disappeared. The dragon no longer looked as large as before, its dark scales now more tan than brown and smoothing out, taking on the texture of…skin.

But that wasn't what alarmed Jill the most. It was the sound the creature was making. What started out as a soft groan evolved into a nearly human cry of suffering.

Was the dragon in pain?

With an earth-shattering roar, fire burst from the dragon's jaws, shooting a fireball into the sky like a comet. Jill covered her eyes against the brilliant blast. An eerie silence surrounded her, with only the soft crackle of the campfire filling the stillness. She peeked through her fingers at the cave entrance.

The dragon was gone.

Then a movement on the ledge caught her eye, a slight shift of the shadows. A form unfolded and rose, until it was clear a man stood at the entrance with his back to her.

A back that bore a pair of dragon wings.

The man turned and looked at her, the firelight illuminating his smooth skin and shining off a strange, starburst-shaped scar in the center of his chest.

Jill couldn't believe what she was seeing. The dragon had just turned into a man.

A very handsome, very naked man.

For the longest time he seemed content to stare at her. The feeling was mutual—she couldn't tear her eyes away from him either. Caramel-brown hair fell in soft waves to his broad shoulders and heavy brows slashed over dark, intense eyes. His ripped body conveyed strength and power, while his full lips whispered of hot, knee-melting kisses.

Then he moved and broke her trance, walking toward her with measured precision. Alarmed, Jill scrambled to her feet, clutching the fur around her like a shield. She glanced at the sword. Instinct told her to pick it up, that she needed to protect herself until she could figure out what was going on. But to do that, she'd have to let go of the fur and then she'd be just as naked as he was.

Her inhibitions won out. Besides, he was so big he could probably yank the sword away and snap it like a twig before she could even scratch him with it.

He stopped on the other side of the fire. When he made no further movement toward her, she let out the breath she'd been holding. It didn't take long for shock to set in.

"You…you were a dragon. And now, you…you're a man."

Jill's addled mind tried to wrap itself around what she'd seen happen. She couldn't do it. It was all too unreal. So her frazzled brain grabbed onto the nearest thought it could, inappropriate and irrational though it was.

"You perverted flying lizard. You saw me naked!"

In all his 216 years as a dragon, Baelin of Gosforth had never been so surprised by someone's reaction to him.

Most of the maidens trembled in fear when they witnessed his change. Many screamed, some ran to hide in the back of the cave, several swooned, and one had—

Baelin stopped himself. There were some things he preferred not to remember.

But this one…

He did not frighten this one at all. Instead, she was angry he'd seen her unclothed while in his dragon form.

"If I'd known you were a man—"

"But I am not a man," he corrected her, interrupting her tirade. "Not anymore."

Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes traveled his body from head to toe before settling near his hips. Unaccustomed to such bold scrutiny, Baelin battled for control under her intense stare. He did not have to look down to know he failed miserably.

It could not be helped. First, the woman disrobed before him, torturing the man inside the beast beyond bearing, and now she eyed his rod like a camp follower. She did not blush or turn away in maidenly modesty. Instead, she arched a finely curved brow and continued to ogle him.

"I beg to differ. There are parts of you that are every inch a man."

Her comment shocked him at first, and Baelin couldn't help but return her brazen remark. "Now 'tis my lady who looks aplenty."

Her head snapped up and her face flamed a becoming shade of pink. He couldn't resist giving her a slow, cocky grin.

She took an instant step back, clutching the fur tightly around her bare shoulders. Like a snuffed candle, the humor of the moment vanished. As brave as she pretended to be, the maid still found him repulsive. Just like all the others. The ever-familiar sense of disappointment returned. Did he truly believe after all this time, this one might be different?

"Fear not. I will not touch you."

"Yeah, well, you just be sure to keep that," she managed to wiggle one finger between a gap in the fur and point it at the offending part in question, "far away from me."

Baelin bowed his head. "As my lady wishes."

He strode around the fire and made his way to the trunk containing his clothing, dressing with his back to her. After donning tan breeches, he slipped on a white linen tunic, the material slit in the back to accommodate the loathsome wings that still remained from his transformation. As he fastened the ties, his senses stayed alert to the woman in the cave with him. She had yet to move from where she stood by the fire. He could hear the soft pant of her breath, could smell her freshly washed skin with a scent uniquely her own. But more than anything, he could feel her eyes on him, burning into his human flesh as no dragon's fire ever could.

As he turned to face her again, she quickly looked away. Was that a flash of disappointment he saw flicker across her face? A trick of the light, no doubt. But then he watched her gaze dart about the cave, in every direction but at him, before a telltale blush crept up the ivory skin of her throat. It took great effort to keep from smiling. So, he'd been correct—she had watched him dress. Had it been out of curiosity, or something else, he wondered?

He strode to another trunk and lifted the lid. "These are for you."

The girl glanced from him to the chest and back. Then she squared her shoulders and walked toward him. Stopping a few safe steps away, she craned her neck and peered inside. The trunk contained smocks and embroidered kirtles in a rainbow of colors, from the softest wools and linens to the finest silks. There were hose and soft leather shoes, warm cloaks and delicate veils. Everything a lady could want.

"I hope they please you."

Her stiff posture relaxed somewhat in her obvious surprise. "These are for me?"

"Aye, unless my lady prefers to remain draped in fur for the remainder of her stay."

Holding the pelt tightly in one fist, she stepped closer and reached out with the other hand to run her palm over the gowns.

"They're beautiful, but to be honest, I'm more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl."

What did she mean? Did she not approve of the gowns? Truth be told, they may be a bit out of date. It was a tiring effort to keep up with the changes in woman's fashions from year to year, especially when he had but a month as a human to acquire them.

"I am sorry if these are not to your liking. If you will but tell me what it is you require, I shall obtain it for you on the morrow."

"On the
morrow
?" She laughed softly, the sound strange in a place that had known no happiness in all the time he'd been forced to live here. "Somehow, I get the feeling you're not going to find a Target around here. These are fine."

Baelin bowed to her, not quite certain he understood her meaning. The maid's manner of speech was strange, like none he'd ever heard before.

"Then I shall leave you to it," he said as he turned away.

"You're giving me privacy?" She made an unladylike snort. "Why start now?"

He stiffened, aware he deserved the censure. "On my word as a knight, you shall have it now, my lady."

"So I guess it didn't count when you were a dragon, huh?"

Duly chastised, Baelin left her and busied himself by filling two silver goblets with wine from one of the many barrels stacked in the cave. He tasted the heady drink, thankful it survived the year without souring. Returning to the fire, he sat down to wait. But not in silence.

Behind him, his acute hearing perceived the soft rustle of clothing. Determined to honor his promise, he kept his eyes averted, only to have them land on a large shield propped against the cave wall. The shiny metal reflected a wavy vision of the girl as she stepped into the gown, her pale skin glowing like pearls in the firelight. Though the hammered metal distorted her image, he could easily picture her as she'd been while he watched her move about the cave in blissful ignorance, streams of water trickling down her naked body, her dusky nipples constricted to tight peaks he ached to suckle. His groin tightened at the memory.

But she was aware of his presence now and he'd given her his word. He closed his eyes, but the image of her burned behind his closed lids, taunting him with every rustle of linen, every whisper of silk.

The slam of the trunk lid signaled the end of his torment, but he did not look up. Not until he heard her approach. Baelin set down the goblets and stood. She'd chosen a gown of dark green wool, simple in cut but lovely nonetheless. The color brought out emerald flecks mixed in the brown of her eyes. She wore no veil to cover her hair, even though he knew there were many to choose from.

"Could you, um," she cleared her throat, "help me out?"

"Certainly. You have but to ask."

"I didn't see anything with buttons or a zipper, so…" She turned, offering her back to him. "I can't seem to tie this thing."

The back of the kirtle was a web of laces from neck to the small of her back, designed to secure the garment tightly to her upper body.

He closed his eyes and stifled a groan. Sweet Mary, the woman wore nothing underneath.

Baelin approached her slowly, half fearing she would change her mind and perform the task herself. The other part of him prayed she would. So soon after the change, it was difficult controlling his dragon impulses without this added temptation.

His hands shook as he began drawing the laces closed and he cursed the weakness of the man in him. Through the gaping slit, he could see the white of her flesh, the graceful curve of her back. He longed to run his hand down her spine, to feel that which only his eyes were able to touch. Without meaning to, his knuckles skimmed the warm softness of her skin and he jerked as if the slight contact burned him.

Wary, Baelin waited for the repulsed reaction certain to come. But the girl continued to stand there patiently, as if she hadn't noticed his transgression.

Now it was he who felt ill at ease. None of the other maids had ever requested this of him. Somehow, they'd been able to manage. Then again, they'd always maintained a safe distance, ever watchful he did not venture too near. None of them had ever allowed him this close, much less permitted his foul hands upon their bodies.

And yet, she did not seem to mind. She even pulled her hair up as he drew near the end of his task, revealing the smooth arch of her neck and the wispy curls at her nape.

What would it be like to brush his lips where her pulse beat just below her ear? He could still taste her from when he'd dared to stroke her with his dragon's tongue while she stood bound to the stake. Would she taste different now that he was human?

Tearing himself away from his lustful thoughts, Baelin tied the knot tighter than it needed to be. He cursed his actions. Now he would probably end up having to cut the gown off her later. As soon as the thought invaded his mind, the vivid image of doing just that nearly brought him to his knees.

He took a much-needed step away from her.

"'Tis done." The words came out as a growl, but he couldn't take them back. Nor could he allow her to see how much her presence affected him.

Letting her hair fall, she turned to face him. "Thank you."

Trying to regain his calm through courtesy, he offered her one of the goblets. Suspicion narrowed her eyes and she kept her hands at her sides.

"What is it?"

"Wine."

She looked from him to the goblet and back. Her lack of trust held a bitter taste, but he reminded himself it was always this way in the beginning.

"Fear not. 'Tis only wine. I wish you no harm."

"I'm not so sure of that yet." But she accepted the goblet anyway. As she reached for it, her sleeve slipped, revealing her wrist and angry red welts marking her flesh, the skin raw and torn.

"God's teeth!" He grabbed her arm, startling her. Her cup clattered to the ground, the spilled wine spreading a crimson river on the stones at their feet. "Why do they always struggle so, when it only brings them harm?"

"Why don't you try standing still as a huge flying lizard comes swooping down at you and see if you don't get a sudden urge to run like hell?"