Heart Of The Dragon. Gena Showalter
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minutes, and her gaze remained fixed on him, studying. Perhaps even appreciating.
Desperate to escape the mental hold she had on him, he demanded, “Turn your gaze, woman.”
Slowly, so slowly, she shook her head, whisking red tendrils around her temples. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Even her voice was innocent, soft and lyrical, a caress of his senses. Yet he had no idea what she had said.
“Damn this,” he muttered. “And damn me.”
The corners of his lips twitched in a scowl. He commanded himself to remain indifferent to her even while he sheathed his sword and closed the distance between them. There was no reason to do what he was about to do, but he could not stop himself. His actions were no longer controlled by his mind, but by some force he didn’t understand or want to acknowledge.
She gasped at his approach. “What are you doing?”
He pressed her back, crowding her until she met the rock-lined wall; she kept the metal object directed at him, the silly thing clicking over and over again. Did she truly expect to protect herself from a dragon warrior with such a useless object? He easily pried it from her fingers and tossed it behind his shoulder. Unbeaten, she lashed out, kicking and hitting and scratching like a wild demon.
He secured her by the wrists, pinning them above her head. “Cease,” he said. When she continued to squirm, he sighed and waited for her to tire. Only a few minutes passed before her movements slowed, then halted altogether.
“You’ll go to prison for this,” she said, dragging in breath after breath.
Her warm exhalations caressed his chest, their intoxicating sweetness a tangible entity that prodded his memory, another gentle reminder of the family he couldn’t quite banish from his mind. He almost jerked away from her, but the scent of fear and orchids enveloped him, a sensual declaration of her appeal. He’d smelled nothing but ash for so long; he couldn’t help but luxuriate in this new fragrance. Inhaling deeply, he pressed against her, brushing her body with his, closing all hint of separation. The need to touch her, any part of her, refused to leave him.
She shivered. From the cold? he wondered. Or from a turbulent desire similar to his own? Her nipples were pebbled against his ribs, erotically abrading, and as he watched her nibble her soft bottom lip, the arousal he felt for her became a storm. A desperate, wild storm. A storm so intense it was like a supernatural entity. His dragon’s blood flowed to his cock like a freshly sprung river, hot and consuming.
His lips curled into a self-disparaging smile. The moment he realized he was actually smiling, he frowned. How his men would have laughed to crown this dainty creature the winner of their wager. Yet he couldn’t seem to make himself care. By the gods, he’d never felt anything so perfect, so right.
His captive blinked up, and their gazes collided. Had white-hot sparks of awareness visibly enveloped them at that moment he would not have been surprised.
This woman is your enemy, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth and shifting his hips so that his erection remained a safe distance away.
“The mind is open, the ears will hear,” he bit out. “Understand we do, apart or near. My words are yours—your words are mine. This I speak. This I bind. From this moment, through all of time.”
Still watching her, he said, “Do you understand my words now?”
“Yes. I—I do.” Her eyes widened, darkening with renewed flecks of alarm. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to form a coherent rejoinder. “How?” was all she could manage. Her voice was strained. Then, she added more strongly, “How?”
“I cast a spell of comprehension over your mind.”
“Spell? No, no. That’s not possible.” She shook her head. “I speak three languages, and I had to work hard to learn every one of them. What did you do to me? What did you do to my brain?”
“I have already explained that to you.”
“Don’t tell me the truth, then.” She laughed, the sound emerging desperate rather than humorous. “None of this matters, anyway. Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and discover this was all a horrible nightmare.”
No, she wouldn’t, he thought, hating himself more at that moment than ever before. Tomorrow’s dawning she would not wake at all. “You should not have come here, woman,” he said. “Do you care nothing for your life?”
“Is that a threat?” She fought against his hold. “Let me go.”
“Cease your struggles. Your actions merely press your body deeper into mine.”
She immediately stilled.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I’m an American citizen, and I know my rights. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“I can do anything I like.”
All color drained from her face because there was no denying the truth of his words.
To prolong her demise like this is cruel, his mind shouted. Close your eyes and strike.
Once again his mind and body acted as separate entities. He found himself releasing her and stepping backward. She leapt away from him as if he were a bloodsucking vampire or a hideously misshapen Formorian.
He focused all of his might on her destruction, looking anywhere except her enigmatic, sea-colored eyes, thinking of anything except her fierce, admirable spirit. Her shirt was torn and gaped down the middle, revealing the hint of two perfect breasts encased in pale pink lace. Another spark of desire flared inside him. Until his gaze locked on the two sets of rubied eyes that hung in the valley of her breasts.
His breath snagged as he studied the ornament more intently. Surely that was not…could not be…
But it was.
A frown cemented his features, and his fingers fisted so tightly his bones almost snapped. How had this woman come to possess such a sacred talisman? The gods awarded every dragon warrior a Ra-Dracus, a Dragon’s Fire, upon reaching manhood, and a warrior never removed his gift, not for any reason save death. The markings etched at the base of this one were familiar to him, but he could not recall exactly to whom it belonged.
Not this woman, that much he knew. She was not a dragon, nor was she a child of Atlantis.
His frown deepened. Ironically the very oath that commanded him to harm her also compelled him to keep her alive until she explained how and why she had the medallion. Reaching out, he attempted to remove it from her neck. She slapped his palm and scampered backward.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she demanded.
“Give me the medallion.”
She didn’t cower at his hard tone as most would have done. Nor did she jump to obey. No, she returned his gaze with unflinching courage. Or stupidity. She remained firmly in place now, hands at her side.
“Don’t come any closer,” she told him.
“You wear the mark of a dragon,” he continued. “And you, woman, are no dragon. Give me the medallion.”
“The only thing I’ll give you is an ass-kicking, you rotten thief. Stay back.”
He leveled her with a resolute gaze. She was defensive and fearful. Not a good combination when trying to obtain answers. He almost sighed. “I am called Darius,” he said. “Does that ease your fears?”
“No, no it doesn’t.” Contrary to her words, her muscles relaxed slightly. “My brother gave me this necklace. It’s my only link to him these days, and I’m not giving it up.”
Darius worried a hand down his face. “What is your name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“What