Fourteen
Alara
Fingers stroke through my hair, rousing me from sleep. I lean into the touch further, enjoying the feeling and a rumble comes from next to me.
Peeling my eyes open, they’re held hostage by dark ones.
He doesn’t say anything, but neither do I.
It feels like if one of us disturbs the silence, we’ll remember all that transpired between us like a torn thread, full of hurt and broken trust.
It’s hard to look at him and want. Especially when he’s the only one to ever give me anything I yearned for. Things I never thought were possible, like the collar being removed from my neck, being allowed to walk around outside freely, and having a full belly of food.
These simple things were out of reach for me since… forever.
And he gave them to me.
He frowns, his fingers moving to my cheek and my eyes flutter at how soft he is with me.
Those hands have killed, I’ve seen it myself and yet with me, he would remove his own hand before he physically hurt me. I know he would.
He did hurt you though, by lying.
He just didn’t want you in any more pain, Alara.
He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s in pain and he is, I can feel it and I ache to make it better for him.
My eyes sting.
Why did it have to come to this?
When I was dragged into that throne room, and the king told me about their deal, the pain I felt was unimaginable, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Because I fell for him.
The barbarian.
The Dragonbond.
The leader.
The man.
I fell so hard and it felt like he dropped me and then threw me away after he said he would keep me.
But the way he looks at me now, with agony in his eyes, a wariness that he’s waiting for me to tell him to get off me, I see his yearning.
It matches my own.
His finger moves down to trace my lips, and I part them slightly, watching him tense.
He moves them further to under my jaw, to the scars upon my neck and he traces them gently.
His jaw ticks.
He doesn’t like seeing them any more than I like seeing the ones on his forearms.
My eyes drop to the ribbons always covering them, and I remember them bleeding in the cells.
I want to ask him how he got them, why they were bleeding, but before I can ask, he asks a question of his own.
“Can I braid your hair?”
So odd that this man who orders around a clan and dragons is asking me for permission.
He usually would’ve just put me between his legs and done it anyway, but since we’ve been in Lothmere, he’s asked for… everything.
I sit up, still not speaking but I nod my head at his request.
He does pick me up then, moving me between his legs, and I realize he now has pants on.
How long has he been awake?
His hands run through my hair, snagging on the tangles and I close my eyes.
He spends a long time doing that, like he doesn’t want to stop touching it, until I recognize the familiar pattern when he eventually begins to braid it.
I never know what he’s doing until he’s done, and I like the surprise of it all.
It isn’t long before he’s finished, pulling two braids forward over my shoulder and I look down, running my fingers over them.
He’s done smaller braids into each one, and it looks like I have more than I actually have.
It’s pretty, feminine.
I love it.
“Do you think you would let me take care of your heart again?” he asks suddenly.
My fingers pause over the braid and I turn to look at him.
His eyes stay on my hair, and it’s so odd for him not to meet my gaze.
I turn fully, sitting cross-legged between his thighs, and he adjusts the braids over my shoulder, playing with the ends.
“Is that what you want?” I ask him softly.
His eyes flick up to mine. “Of course,” he says gruffly. “I want all of you. Heart, mind and soul.”
“Not the body?”
“You’re much more than the body you’re housed in.”
I blink slowly at that, my heart skipping a beat as a warmth settles inside of me.
“I have failed you so many times, haven’t I?” he says, almost to himself. Dejected.
I release a breath and I reach out, taking his large hand in mine.
His fingers twitch, and I run a finger across them, feeling the cuts and scrapes, and then over his palm. So rough, deadly, yet he’s the gentlest with me.
“I don’t think failed is the correct word.”
“Then what is?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, but failed feels…wrong.”
He nods.
“Would you still look after mine?”
I tilt my head. “Your what?”
“My heart.”
He lifts our hands and places them right on my chest, to tell me that his heart is within me.
“I’ve never had a heart to look after before,” I tell him.
“I haven’t either.” he shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m meant for it.” His brows pinch, and he frowns down at our hands. He looks miserable. I never thought this formidable man could even look like that, and it makes me uncomfortable.
I get up on my knees and shuffle closer.
His eyes snap to mine, his breathing picking up the closer I get.
“You are meant for great things, Rohan Asgarr, rider of Drogonah, Dragonbond, and the leader of clan Blackscale.”
“And they mean nothing if I don’t have you.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
Dragorie pride themselves in strength, honor, and he says it means nothing if he doesn’t have me?
“You hurt me,” I breathe, the truth pulling taut between us.
“I’m sorry,” he says instantly.
“I know.”
And I do.
I can see it in the set of his shoulders, the self-loathing in his eyes, the way he runs his fingers down my cheek or strokes my hair reverently, like I’m something so precious to him.
But more than that, I can feel it.
His sadness, his anger, his guilt.
And it’s heavy.
I don’t want him to carry that.
I breathe out a stuttering breath, and then I lean forward.
His eyes widen, pupils dilating and when our lips touch, he releases a desperate groan as his hands go to my hair, pulling me closer.
His tongue runs along the seam of my lips and I open for him, his body trembling as he hauls me into his lap. My arms go around his neck, my fingers playing with the hair at the base and he groans into me like a starving man, like I just gave him everything.
I whimper, pressing as close as I can get to him, feeling him surround me, his heat, his scent, just him.
“Alara,” he whispers, pulling back to look at me, but it’s only for a moment until he’s on me again. One hand in my hair, the other on my hip, dragging me closer still.
He grunts, and I can feel how hard he is beneath me. My stomach swoops, yet all he does is kiss me, savor me, and somehow, that’s even better.
I run my hands down his chest, feeling every twitch and clench of his muscles. When I reach his abs, his chest is heaving and I once again marvel that I can make him feel this way.
“You undo me,” he murmurs against my lips, kissing down my jaw to my neck, inhaling me.
I tilt my head to give him better access and he rumbles in approval, a hand splaying on my back to hold me still.
I run a hand over his hair, catching my breath.
He nuzzles into me, clutching at me like he misses me even when I’m already here, and I can feel that with every touch.
Something soars between us, pulling closer, wrapping us up together and for a moment, I’m home.
He pulls back, placing a kiss on my lips, and I smile softly at him.
His gaze drops to that smile, eyes darkening further, and I know I can overcome the hurt I feel. I don’t want to hold onto it any longer, it’s too heavy for me, too.
He can make it better, he’s already beginning to, and I don’t know how much time we have left.
He kisses me again after a moment and it’s like I’m the very air he breathes, his hands roaming over me as though he can’t believe I’m real, and when he pulls back, he blows out a breath, opening his mouth—
“The king is here!” Kaldar shouts outside the tent, and just like that, the moment is over as ice fills my veins.
A shadow crosses Rohan’s face, eyes alight with anger. Concern.
“Stay here,” he says, lifting me off of him and putting me gently in the furs.
He grabs his tunic and axe. His boots are on next and with one last look at me, he’s gone.
My heart hammers in my chest.
What is the king doing here? What does he want?
Murmurs come from the clan outside, some cries, and with my heart hammering and limbs trembling, I quickly put on my own pants and boots.
I stop at the threshold, staring at the tent.
You’re a part of the clan.
Be brave, Alara.
I tear open the flap, the morning light blinding me for a moment as I adjust.
I walk out onto the main path that comes down from the gate, where everyone is gathered. Some of the other clans are on the outskirts, and that’s where the king is.
He’s on a horse, a gray one with a purple cloth on its back, draping down either side.
He has more guards surrounding him on horseback with others on foot, and each and every one of them has Nighturn attached to them in some way. I swallow, looking up to the walls and those at the top also have arrows aiming down too.
I slowly walk forward to Tofa and Beau, and she grabs my hand. “He wants you, Alara,” she whispers fiercely. “You need to hide, go, quickly—”
“Ahh, our dear elf.”
We freeze at Halen’s words, and Rohan, who was in front of Halen, seemingly blocking his path, turns. Something like fear crosses his face as he spots me, before the Dragonbond appears once more. Eyes hard.
“No,” he says, turning back to the king.
“That is not for you to decide,” Halen says. “I request her presence, and she will come. It’s not up for discussion.”
“It is,” Rohan says, hands hanging loose at his side, but I know he’s twitching for the axe at his back.
The king lifts a hand, and the guards change their stance, aiming at the clan.
They all tense, but they don’t move, don’t cower.
I blink, my body shaking as Tofa holds on to me tighter.
What does he want me for? To go back down with those dragons?
“Still no?” Halen asks, and Rohan says nothing, the clan says nothing. “Very well.”
The king drops his hand, and arrows come flying down from above.
It all happens so fast.
The arrows rain down as the clan stands there, waiting for what’s to come—and then they hit.
Some growl, others cry out as they hit the ground, moaning in pain.