Dragon Unbound
Page 21
“No. I ...” I stopped for a moment, tears thickening painfully in my throat. “No one has ever asked me to sing for them. Oh, sure, plenty of people have wanted me to sing for their gain, in order to influence others, but no one has ever wanted me to truly just ... sing.”
He rolled off me, pulling me with him so that I was lying half across him. “I am not like the people you have met before. Sing for me.”
I sang. And it was almost as good as the lovemaking we’d just shared, just as intimate, but satisfying on a whole different level.
It wasn’t until I was drowsy and almost asleep that I remembered Jim’s words about the fate of demigods who entangled themselves with mortals.
Chapter Six
A horrible rumbling sound pulled the First Dragon from the edge of sleep. He lifted his head and looked down at his belly, unhappy with both the noise it was making and the hollow, needy sensation that accompanied it. He was hungry. He disliked feeling hungry, and, in fact, felt somewhat helpless by it. In the days before when he had lived amongst the dragonkin, his mate fed him regularly. Maerwyn always saw to it that meals appeared just as his body was demanding sustenance, but now here he was, hungry.
He looked over at Charity. She slumbered beside him, her back to him, but her flesh pressed against his in a way that both comforted and aroused. How long had it been since he had taken a female? He thought, counting the centuries. Had it been so long since Maerwyn died? That sorrow seemed so ingrained in him that he had lost track of time.
He looked back at Charity, wondering what she would say if he asked her for food, but at that moment, he remembered the food that Aisling had promised to deliver. It was probably downstairs right at that moment, sitting there waiting to be eaten.
His stomach made the noise again. He grimaced and, propping himself up, leaned over Charity to murmur, “Food has been provided for us. Would you like to dine?”
“Mmm,” she said, sleep heavy in her voice. She burrowed deeper into the pillow. “Had some chocolate already.”
“I will eat,” he said, and stroked a hand down her naked back, wondering again at the silken feeling of her flesh. He’d forgotten just how delightfully different females’ bodies were from his, and he relished the sensation of reacquainting himself with all the intriguing nooks and crannies.
Charity made a purring noise, and wiggled into the blankets. He rose and tucked them carefully around her, pulling on his pants and shoes before making his way downstairs. The gatehouse had a small dining hall, a buttery, a solar, and two indoor privies. He made a quick visit to the last (reminding himself that dragons in the mortal plane had a lot to put up with), before going to find the food. He checked first the solar, but it was empty of food, as was the tiny dining hall. Finally, he entered the buttery—he checked himself even as he thought the word, and corrected it to the more modern word “kitchen”—where he found several packages of food that had been left.
This is a killer lasagna made with beef and lamb. Drake would eat a whole pan of it in one sitting if I’d let him, so I’m sure you and Not-Vicky will love it. Just peel off the plastic wrap and pop this in the microwave for ninety seconds to warm it up, read a note attached to one package. He pursed his lips, then said slowly, “Microwave.” He wondered if Charity would mind if he woke her up and asked her to ready his food, but decided that if Maerwyn’s reactions to such requests were anything to go by, Charity would likely mind it.
“I am the First Dragon,” he told the container of food, and with a glance around that would have been called guilty in anyone else, he breathed fire on it.
Unfortunately, the container was of an inferior quality, and it melted along with the lasagna that the green wyvern loved so much. The First Dragon was mildly annoyed by that fact, and was torn between a walk to the main house to ask for more and the growing need in his belly. He left the mess of melted container and food where it was and turned to the other container.
Just in case Not-Vicky is a vegetarian, here is a green salad. There’s a balsamic vinaigrette, and also a blue cheese dressing to go on it. Rolls are in the basket, and some pesto and smoked salmon are in the fridge. There’s some ice cream in the freezer in case you get a sweet tooth. Just call if you need more food.
He poked into the bowl, and wrinkled his nose. It was full of greens. The feeling in his belly demanded more than greens. He looked around the rest of the buttery—kitchen—and discovered a basket full of crusty rolls, of which he immediately consumed four. Then he found a small dish of butter, which made the next three rolls go down much easier. He opened cupboard doors, discovering various plates and cups and assorted containers, but it wasn’t until he opened a large cold cupboard that he found the other stores Aisling had mentioned.
He sat at the small table with his feast laid out before him.
“Pesto,” he said, spreading some of it on a roll,“is quite satisfying. Also the salmon.” He speared a piece of it and, after a moment’s thought, put it onto the roll with the pesto, then topped it all with a tangy white sauce that he found in the cold cupboard. “Mayonnaise. It sounds French.”
It took him some time to find something to drink, but he remembered a visit he’d made to his brother Osiris, and how Osiris had been insufferably smug about the running water he’d had installed at his palace in the Egyptian underworld. Sure enough, the gatehouse had a similar situation, and the First Dragon was able to quench the thirst that the consumption of twelve rolls had generated.
He took one last roll, put some pesto and salmon in it, and carefully carried it upstairs to present to Charity when she woke.
And that’s when he discovered that she was gone.
He stared around the room in which he’d spent such a pleasurable time, unable to believe his eyes. “Charity?” He looked in the bathroom, where she’d stood so delightfully unaware that he could see her entire naked backside, but she wasn’t in there. The bed was cool to the touch, indicating that she’d been gone for some time. Where had she gone? Had she returned to the main house, there to bespell his dragonkin?
He shook his head even as he thought it. She wouldn’t do that. He knew her heart wasn’t in the act she’d clearly been coerced into performing.
“She was abducted,” he told the salmon and pesto roll, and then ate it while considering what to do. If he were not bound by a promise, he would simply slip into the Beyond, the plane of existence in which resided, amongst other beings, demigods. There, he would use the full scope of his powers and locate Charity. But he’d made an oath to his dragonkin, an oath that could not be broken. Therefore, he must act as a dragon would who was bound to the mortal plane. A minute later, he stood at the door to the main house.
He rolled off me, pulling me with him so that I was lying half across him. “I am not like the people you have met before. Sing for me.”
I sang. And it was almost as good as the lovemaking we’d just shared, just as intimate, but satisfying on a whole different level.
It wasn’t until I was drowsy and almost asleep that I remembered Jim’s words about the fate of demigods who entangled themselves with mortals.
Chapter Six
A horrible rumbling sound pulled the First Dragon from the edge of sleep. He lifted his head and looked down at his belly, unhappy with both the noise it was making and the hollow, needy sensation that accompanied it. He was hungry. He disliked feeling hungry, and, in fact, felt somewhat helpless by it. In the days before when he had lived amongst the dragonkin, his mate fed him regularly. Maerwyn always saw to it that meals appeared just as his body was demanding sustenance, but now here he was, hungry.
He looked over at Charity. She slumbered beside him, her back to him, but her flesh pressed against his in a way that both comforted and aroused. How long had it been since he had taken a female? He thought, counting the centuries. Had it been so long since Maerwyn died? That sorrow seemed so ingrained in him that he had lost track of time.
He looked back at Charity, wondering what she would say if he asked her for food, but at that moment, he remembered the food that Aisling had promised to deliver. It was probably downstairs right at that moment, sitting there waiting to be eaten.
His stomach made the noise again. He grimaced and, propping himself up, leaned over Charity to murmur, “Food has been provided for us. Would you like to dine?”
“Mmm,” she said, sleep heavy in her voice. She burrowed deeper into the pillow. “Had some chocolate already.”
“I will eat,” he said, and stroked a hand down her naked back, wondering again at the silken feeling of her flesh. He’d forgotten just how delightfully different females’ bodies were from his, and he relished the sensation of reacquainting himself with all the intriguing nooks and crannies.
Charity made a purring noise, and wiggled into the blankets. He rose and tucked them carefully around her, pulling on his pants and shoes before making his way downstairs. The gatehouse had a small dining hall, a buttery, a solar, and two indoor privies. He made a quick visit to the last (reminding himself that dragons in the mortal plane had a lot to put up with), before going to find the food. He checked first the solar, but it was empty of food, as was the tiny dining hall. Finally, he entered the buttery—he checked himself even as he thought the word, and corrected it to the more modern word “kitchen”—where he found several packages of food that had been left.
This is a killer lasagna made with beef and lamb. Drake would eat a whole pan of it in one sitting if I’d let him, so I’m sure you and Not-Vicky will love it. Just peel off the plastic wrap and pop this in the microwave for ninety seconds to warm it up, read a note attached to one package. He pursed his lips, then said slowly, “Microwave.” He wondered if Charity would mind if he woke her up and asked her to ready his food, but decided that if Maerwyn’s reactions to such requests were anything to go by, Charity would likely mind it.
“I am the First Dragon,” he told the container of food, and with a glance around that would have been called guilty in anyone else, he breathed fire on it.
Unfortunately, the container was of an inferior quality, and it melted along with the lasagna that the green wyvern loved so much. The First Dragon was mildly annoyed by that fact, and was torn between a walk to the main house to ask for more and the growing need in his belly. He left the mess of melted container and food where it was and turned to the other container.
Just in case Not-Vicky is a vegetarian, here is a green salad. There’s a balsamic vinaigrette, and also a blue cheese dressing to go on it. Rolls are in the basket, and some pesto and smoked salmon are in the fridge. There’s some ice cream in the freezer in case you get a sweet tooth. Just call if you need more food.
He poked into the bowl, and wrinkled his nose. It was full of greens. The feeling in his belly demanded more than greens. He looked around the rest of the buttery—kitchen—and discovered a basket full of crusty rolls, of which he immediately consumed four. Then he found a small dish of butter, which made the next three rolls go down much easier. He opened cupboard doors, discovering various plates and cups and assorted containers, but it wasn’t until he opened a large cold cupboard that he found the other stores Aisling had mentioned.
He sat at the small table with his feast laid out before him.
“Pesto,” he said, spreading some of it on a roll,“is quite satisfying. Also the salmon.” He speared a piece of it and, after a moment’s thought, put it onto the roll with the pesto, then topped it all with a tangy white sauce that he found in the cold cupboard. “Mayonnaise. It sounds French.”
It took him some time to find something to drink, but he remembered a visit he’d made to his brother Osiris, and how Osiris had been insufferably smug about the running water he’d had installed at his palace in the Egyptian underworld. Sure enough, the gatehouse had a similar situation, and the First Dragon was able to quench the thirst that the consumption of twelve rolls had generated.
He took one last roll, put some pesto and salmon in it, and carefully carried it upstairs to present to Charity when she woke.
And that’s when he discovered that she was gone.
He stared around the room in which he’d spent such a pleasurable time, unable to believe his eyes. “Charity?” He looked in the bathroom, where she’d stood so delightfully unaware that he could see her entire naked backside, but she wasn’t in there. The bed was cool to the touch, indicating that she’d been gone for some time. Where had she gone? Had she returned to the main house, there to bespell his dragonkin?
He shook his head even as he thought it. She wouldn’t do that. He knew her heart wasn’t in the act she’d clearly been coerced into performing.
“She was abducted,” he told the salmon and pesto roll, and then ate it while considering what to do. If he were not bound by a promise, he would simply slip into the Beyond, the plane of existence in which resided, amongst other beings, demigods. There, he would use the full scope of his powers and locate Charity. But he’d made an oath to his dragonkin, an oath that could not be broken. Therefore, he must act as a dragon would who was bound to the mortal plane. A minute later, he stood at the door to the main house.
