The Dragon Prince's Promise (Dragongrove Book 5) Read online

  She wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t act on it. She’d had to cajole him into the spring with her, and he’d been careful to not touch her after that night. He ate with her everyday, he sat next to her and conversed easily with her, but after that night he’d been careful to not brush his leg against hers.

  She’d had enough. She at least wanted him to know that she wanted him, if she hadn’t been obvious enough. Men could be so oblivious, though.

  “You’re standing?” she said. “All the way out here? You’re so much taller than me.”

  It shouldn’t have hurt her, the way he turned from her just slightly, the way he nodded instead of challenging her back. It did, though.

  It was so hard to not reach out for him. She liked to imagine that if she did, he’d open his arms for her and hold her to him. She thought that that would be a nice place to be, pressed against his chest, his heart under her cheek. She dared not to, though, not with the blatant way he ignored her advances.

  So she ignored him again, and retreated a bit, scrubbing every inch of herself with her hand. It wasn’t the most effective way to get clean, she supposed, but compared to her freezing bucket she could hardly wipe the grin from her face.

  She floated over to the opposite side of the little pool where the shore edged along a steep cliff. She could see for miles—all the way down to where trees were growing—so far from her and so dense that they appeared to carpet the mountainside. She looked for a long time, noticing the great lines in the rocks from when they’d been formed, in a time before time. She felt very small as she looked.

  •••••

  Tate was tightly wound; about to come undone. Elsie’s golden hair floated around her shoulders, billowing out around her like a siren in the old stories. Her face was content, even as she teased him. He had never seen her so relaxed—he wanted to see it often.

  He had to remind himself not to reach for her. It felt like the most natural thing to do; to put his hands on his shoulders and guide her next to him and run his fingers down her side, down her hips, down her legs.

  She wanted him. She’d made it obvious, and it was becoming physically painful for him to turn away from her. He couldn’t do it, though—he couldn’t push it that far. It would be inviting disaster.

  Vodan suspected something of Tate’s attachment, but if he knew how deep it ran—if he knew what it really was—then not only would Elsie never be allowed to leave, she would find herself in danger.

  It was a dangerous game that Tate found himself playing, and he wondered briefly why he’d even agreed to bring her to this place. He knew, though, just as quickly as he thought it. He wanted her to be pleased; to have a moment of contentment, no matter how short. She hadn’t asked to be brought here, she hadn’t singed her life away as Tate had—she was a victim of circumstance, and it wasn’t fair to her.

  She hadn’t asked for a thing for herself since she’d arrived; her only concern had been for her friend’s well-being. He’d provided what he could, but that wasn’t much. He didn’t even know how she occupied herself during the day—he knew that there was little enough to do in the cabin. So when she had asked for something, asked if there was anywhere that she could possibly bathe, it would have been impossible for him to pretend that this place didn’t exist.

  He wanted her to see it, he realized. He wanted her to see that there was something worthwhile in this remote corner of the world.

  He wanted her to see that he cared about this place—that he saw beauty in the view and the world and that there was more to him than he was trying and continually failing to keep from her. Because he wanted to stay away from her, he wanted to keep her safe—but there was something deeper there. There was a need for her to see him, a need for her to understand why he did what he did.

  He needed her physically, there was plenty of evidence of that. He needed her in more ways than that, though. He needed her smiles and her laughter and her concern. He needed her easy forgiveness, although there was no way in the world that he could ever earn it.

  He faced out over the shore, away from her, with barely a tether on his control. Every fiber of him ached to turn and take her in his arms and claim her—to hold her and fuck her until there was no mistaking what he wanted, until there was no mistaking who she belonged to.

  He looked out over the mountains and rocks and shut his eyes and clenched his teeth.

  A small brush against his arm made him whirl around. Elsie’s eyes were wide as she took in the speed of his movement and the set of his jaw. His hands were on her arms, he realized, but he didn’t try to move them. He didn’t know if he could.

  His palms burned where they touched her. He wanted to touch every inch of her skin, he wanted to lean forward and lick the top of her breasts where they floated just above the water. He wanted to reach between her thighs and find her wet and wanting. He wanted to taste her.

  A long moment had passed between them as he breathed unsteadily and tried to regain control. His stilted breaths became steady again, as long as he didn’t look at her face. Because in her eyes he could see that she wanted him just as much.

  He released her all at once, and took a step back. “We should go,” he said thickly. “I need to return.”

  She nodded silently, still with wide eyes, still with eyes that promised lust. He couldn’t meet them, because then he would be on her and do exactly what she wanted him to do. So he stalked back to the shore with his eyes averted from her and dressed quickly, before holding up a heavy sheet for her to wrap herself in. He shut his eyes as she silently stepped into it, and he found himself closing his arms around her, wrapping her in it. She leaned against him, her teeth chattering and her face freezing against his shoulder.

  He sighed as he pulled her long rope of wet hair away from her back. He shouldn’t have offered this, it obviously wasn’t safe for her in the freezing weather. It was hard for him to know what humans could withstand, and it was clear that Elsie wasn’t forthcoming with information when she had met her limit. So he just held her hair away from her and covered her in another, thicker blanket, and then wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  “Are you alright?” he murmured, and she nodded against his chest.

  “Better now,” she said, and paused for a moment. “Thank you.”

  He felt something move against his shoulder, and when he dared to glance down he could see her lips pressed against his skin. She was kissing him—his shoulder—and before he knew what he was doing, his palms were on her cheeks and he was leaning over and her mouth was pressing insistently against his.

  He felt a shudder go through her, a shudder that suggested that she wanted this as much as he did, that she needed him as much as he needed her. He felt selfish, then, to have been denying her, and moved one hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer.

  Her arms came up out of the sheet to tangle in his hair, her fingers moving in soft lines across his head. Her mouth was sweet against his, and when her tongue swept along his lips, he was consumed by her.

  He kissed her softly but insistently, and she matched him, with tiny moans against his mouth that made him want to lay her on the rocky shore and have her, right there. He had half a mind to do just that when he noticed her quivering—no, shivering.

  She looked up at him with wide eyes as he pulled back, and wrapped her more tightly in her coverings. “We need to return,” he said, scarcely recognizing his own voice.

  She nodded up at him, her eyes still wide. Alarm was clear on her face, and he tried not to dwell on it as she dressed, and as he shifted, and the entire way back home.

  Fifteen

  Elsie had fallen asleep shortly after returning to the cabin, and her dreams had been filled with Tate. She found herself dwelling on them as she ate her dinner, alone, on her bed in the little cabin.

  He’d brought her back to the cabin and touched her shoulder tentatively, like he’d been afraid to do more. He’d been away for too lo
ng, he’d said, and he would have to skip dinner that night. She didn’t much feel like sitting alone around the fire, with beasts who viewed her as a potential food source as her only company, so she’d opted to stay where she was and eat some of the preserved meat from the small food storage.

  She needed him—especially now that she knew what kissing him was like, especially after she’d felt his arousal pressing into her. She’d wanted him to take her right there; she wouldn’t have cared about stones in her back, she wouldn’t have cared about the freezing air, not when he was so big and warm and wanting her.

  After she ate, she removed her nightgown, and washed it as best as she could in the little pail of water by her fire. It was becoming threadbare, but there was little she could do about that; she would worry about holes when the time came.

  An idea struck her then, and a little while later, she had most of a small fur stitched to the inside of the nightgown. The work wasn’t well done, but it would stay put, and she thought that once she was finished, her silly nightgown might be very comfortable against the cold wind.

  The wind howled against the cracks in the door, and although it was a familiar sound, it seemed louder than she’d heard before. She hoped that it wasn’t getting colder; she didn’t know how she would manage colder.

  When her nightgown was finally dry and nearly half was lined with thick furs, she pulled it back on and retreated to her bed. She’d thought that this was a night that she would lay awake and consider all that had happened, consider Tate’s mouth and hands and shoulders; if she’d had the capacity, she’d have been thoroughly surprised by falling asleep quickly.

  It was a long, cold night, and Elsie had slept until late in the morning. When she awoke, her breath was curling in the air in front of her, and her hands and feet ached. She glanced over to the hearth and was dismayed to see that the fire had completely burned out. Apparently she’d slept too long and deep, and the bone-chilling cold had completely settled over the room. She knew she needed to get up, knew she was capable of lighting another fire, but her hands and her arms hurt, and when she tried to sit up, she was unable to.

  She stared at the hearth for such a long time that she thoroughly imagined a fire, to the point that she felt the heat of it sweep through her. She was warm—finally, blessedly warm, and her many layers were too much. With stiff fingers she removed her blankets and furs, and managed to kick the coverings down to her feet. She was comfortable in only her nightgown, but she was so very tired.

  She watched the sky darken through the small window, and she found herself wishing that she could see the stars through it.

  She was awake when Tate knocked, although she couldn’t make herself speak to respond. She was awake when he threw open the door and took in the sight of the room, and then swore and crossed to her side faster than she knew he could move.

  “You missed dinner,” he said, a question on his face.

  She turned to watch him, feeling very weak but not quite knowing why.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, but the worry on his face betrayed the frustration in his tone. “Why aren’t you covered?”

  His hands were on her face. They were warm—too warm, so hot that she wanted to push them away. The world looked strange, and it took her a moment to realize that she was trembling violently, shivering like she never had before.

  “Fuck, El,” he said. She felt the bed shift and then big arms enveloped her from behind, and a scorching hot body pressed against her back. It was too warm, too much, but she didn’t have the strength to even speak, let alone turn and push him from her. He pulled the blanket over her and covered her up to her chin, and then settled back behind her, covering her head with his own.

  Several silent minutes passed before the heat from him became welcome, before she could again feel just how cold she was. She still trembled violently, but his firm grip on her helped her to feel grounded. When her shivering had calmed to a mere chattering of teeth he pressed his lips to her ear.

  “I’m going to light the fire,” he murmured, “I’ll be right back, I swear.”

  She tried to nod, but she couldn’t tell if he’d noticed. He was back faster than she expected, but when he climbed in behind her she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, El,” he murmured in her ear, “but you have to warm up.”

  She took a deep breath and heat unfurled through her belly. She wasn’t sure if it was the warmth from his body or the warmth from his breath that had caused it. “Help me turn over,” she said through chattering teeth. Her back had thawed, but her front was still painfully cold.

  He turned her over in a fluid motion, and as soon as she had settled against him, she pressed her numb nose into his neck. He was warm—so delightfully warm, and as her sheet of hair fell across her cheek and she buried her face further into him, her breath heating the little hollow that she was in further. She thought that she could stay there forever, with his arms around her back pressing her into him, with his pulse thundering under her ear, with her hair being ruffled each time he exhaled.

  It wasn’t hard to fall asleep, surrounded by so much warmth. She pressed her lips against his neck once, and then twice, and shut her eyes.

  •••••

  Tate awoke, all at once, to the little woman in his arms staring at him. Her neck was stretched long and her arms were in front of her, pressed together, seeking warmth between her body and his. Her bright blue eyes studied his face and her cheeks were a faint pink color. That pleased him. The ability to blush, he thought, was surely a good sign. His cock was painfully stiff between them, a side-effect of being pressed against her sweet, soft form all night. He hoped she didn’t notice, he hoped she wouldn’t twist away from him.

  He had been terrified when he’d found her the night before. It was a bottomless black terror that he had only experienced once before; he hoped never to experience it again. Elsie had been non-responsive and cold to the touch, and he’d never felt as hopeless as he had at that moment. He’d flown across the room and warmed her with his own heat, and she hadn’t even had the strength to protest when he’d removed his shirt to warm her more effectively. Minutes had passed, hours had passed, and he’d only moved from his spot wrapped around her to add fuel to the fire. It wouldn’t burn out again; he would see to that.

  After the initial fear had passed, he spent the night grappling with guilt. It was his fault that she was here, it was his fault that she couldn’t return home—Vodan’s vice grip on his life or not. And it was Tate who had left her alone in the cabin, instead of insisting on staying to look after her. That wouldn’t happen again.

  He had to admit that once she had warmed enough to have color in her cheeks, and once she had fallen into a deep sleep, he’d enjoyed having her next to him. He’d been thinking of it, dreaming of it since she arrived—no, it had been much longer than that. He just hadn’t known it at the time.

  He felt sickening guilt and shame washing over him at the pleasure he’d taken. She’d nearly died—nearly died—because of his actions. He could blame Vodan for his problems all he wanted, but it hadn’t been the mage’s fault that he’d left her alone here. She could have been dead, could have easily been a frozen corpse if he hadn’t checked on her after dinner. And where would that leave him? Just another body to add to the list, he supposed.

  So when he woke to her staring at him, he was afraid of what she might say. He was afraid of her pulling away from him, hoping this wouldn’t be the last and only time that he’d be able to hold her like this. It was easy and cowardly to stretch his neck and shoulders, to shut his eyes, to rest his chin on her head so she couldn’t look at him like that anymore. He hoped she wouldn’t push him away, he hoped she might just stay still for a few moments, just long enough that he could memorize the feeling of waking with her in his arms.

  He didn’t deserve the kiss that he’d taken, and he didn’t deserve the way that she looked at him, right then.

  A long moment passed, and
another. He held his breath through each, waiting for the inevitable squirm to be released. He was thoroughly surprised, then, when he felt her two palms on his chest, reassuringly warm. He was more surprised when they glided up, along his skin, and came to grip his shoulders. Her lovely face pressed further into his neck, and he swore he could feel her lips against it as she spoke.

  Her voice was muffled by his skin and her long curtain of hair, but it was unmistakable. “I’m sorry,” she said, and then, “thank you.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured, his wavering voice giving away his surprise. “Don’t ever be sorry. What’s there to be sorry for?”

  “I let the fire die,” she said, and then pulled her head from his chest to try to see him. He met her eyes and she looked...guilty. “I know better than to do that.”

  “No,” he growled, and the look on her face and the tenseness in her body made him regret his tone. “No,” he said again, more softly. “It’s not your fault, Elsie. I didn’t...I didn’t look after you. I haven’t since you’ve come here and—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His arms were still around her, his hand were still open on her back, and as he spoke his grip tightened. As her eyes widened he relaxed his fingers, hoping she wouldn’t shrug him off of her.

  She didn’t, she just stayed as she was and smiled faintly. “You didn’t ask for me to get dropped on this stupid mountain. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “You didn’t either,” he said. “You didn’t ask to be plucked from your bed and to be frozen half to death and left here to be berated by me. You didn’t ask to have to be the only advocate for your friend while I sat by and couldn’t do anything to help. I assure you, this whole situation is much more unfair to you than it is for me.”