Chapter 7
Zenevieve
Emmeric is in a strange mood when we return to the dragongrounds. He lingers by Shar, and for once, he’s not doing or saying anything nasty.
As I pass him, he says, “Did you see the magic that sorcerer could cast? What incredible power.”
Emmeric almost sounds envious. Respecting our enemies is one thing, but it sounds like Emmeric admires the sorcerer that nearly killed us and our dragons. “I saw enough to know that I’m glad he’s dead.”
“I wonder…” the prince says dreamily.
“What do you wonder?”
Emmeric turns to look at me, and his expression sharpens with dislike. “I wonder if it makes the dragonmaster sick, the way you’re always fawning over him.” He mocks me in a high-pitched voice. “Ooh, you’re so handsome in the snow, dragonmaster.”
I feel myself turn bright red. “I do not fawn. We’re friends. It’s normal to say nice things to your friends.”
I should have been more careful not to talk fondly to Stesha where Emmeric could overhear, but he looked so good against the white snow with his hair teased by the wind and his white cloak billowing around him.
I don’t really think of Stesha as a friend.
First, he was Grandfather’s apprentice, then Father’s friend, and more recently, my guardian.
But that’s what he is, not how I feel about him.
What I feel is that I’m never close enough to Stesha.
I want more, and that wanting is getting sharper every day.
Emmeric steps closer, looming over me with an evil smile on his face. “Do you wish all your friends would knock you on your back and split you in two? Are we friends, Zenevieve?”
I stumble backward, but just before his body slams into mine, he veers away from me, laughing as he walks off.
My face burns even harder, and there’s a strange churning in my belly.
Split me in two? What does he mean, split me in two?
That sounds painful, but I have the idea that he’s not talking about his sword.
Not a literal one, anyway. I’ve heard Alphas talk about their “weapons,” followed by laughter from their friends, and I think they’re referring to their mating organs.
Before we moved to Lenhale, Mother told me that she hoped I would marry an Alpha because Alphas father the strongest children, but she warned me that Alphas have particular needs and can be demanding mates.
I wasn’t listening very closely because I was probably thinking about dragons.
I watch Stesha dry melting snow from Nilak’s scales while thinking about him being a demanding mate.
Demanding how? With his voice? With his kisses?
With his body? My face burns as I imagine the possibilities.
I have to endure fresh taunts of dragonmaster’s pet for weeks after the other trainees witnessed Stesha running to my aid over a small cut, right after the crown prince’s hand was engulfed in dragonfire. I don’t care. It’s not as though being reminded that I’m Stesha’s favorite hurts my feelings.
When I turn seventeen, the attention I’ve been receiving from men seems to double overnight. The only time I can find peace is when I’m with Stesha, because no one but friends approach me when I’m with him.
I do try to take an interest in the dragonriders and members of the City Guards who bring me gifts of toffee or ask me to go on walks.
All the Beta girls around me are happily kissing, touching, and practicing mating with just about anyone who catches their attention.
I envy them sometimes. They seem happy. But within moments of a young man approaching me, I’m silently cataloging all the ways he doesn’t measure up to the man I most admire.
They fall drastically short of the dragonmaster.
I search myself for that warm, fuzzy feeling that Stesha gives me when he presses a kiss to my brow, calls me Zen, tucks my hair behind my ear, or any of the dozens of things he does that are just for me.
But no one makes me feel like Stesha does.
Stesha is twenty-seven now, and he’s growing more alluring every day.
I feel warm just hearing the pitch of his deep voice.
Witnessing the fury of his combat when he spars with the other Alphas.
I admire the lines that form on his brow when he’s helping an injured dragon, and I enjoy how his arms settle comfortably around me when he takes me flying on Nilak.
I adore the way he stretches out on the settle in our living room with his long legs propped up and his shirt half undone.
The intimate, quiet time we spend at home, just the two of us, is my favorite.
He relaxes, and we discuss the goings on in Lenhale, which usually relates to dragons.
Sometimes he gets female attention, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Later I mention the names of the women I’ve seen following him around or trying to talk to him.
More often than not, he gives me a puzzled frown, and asks, “Who?” and I have to hide my smile of satisfaction.
Of course Stesha couldn’t hurt me or make me jealous by giving affection to another woman.
He’s too lovely to make me feel anything but wonderful.
After all these years, he still scents a blanket for me and leaves it under my pillow because it helps me sleep.
One evening I get into bed and fish the blanket out, and the fragrance is not only stronger than usual, but richer too.
I moan softly because Stesha’s scent has sent a wave of pure pleasure through me.
I feel like I’ve drunk too much ale in the Great Hall, and my body heats up all over.
I tumble headlong into sleep, which is filled with dreams of hard muscles, long white hair, and sharp teeth in my flesh.
In the morning, I can’t make myself let go of the blanket as I get out of bed. It’s crumpled in my arms, and my face is buried in the fabric, which trails between my feet as I walk into the living room.
Stesha is pacing up and down, and his scent is pungent. The same scent that I’ve been saturated in all night.
As soon as he sees me, he says, “I wanted to wait until you were up before leaving so I could say goodbye. I’ll be gone for several days.”
I feel dazed from the scent coming off the blanket and off him. “Mm? Hmmf.”
“Zen?” He stares at me. Then he notices the blanket. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was going into a rut last night. Give me that.”
He holds out his hand to take the blanket from me, but I shake my head. “Want to keep it,” I mumble into the fabric.
“Come on, you don’t want that.”
But I do want this blanket. I never want to let it go.
He sighs and grinds the heel of his hand between his eyes. “Gods, my head feels like it’s about to explode. I guess keep it if you really want it. Will you check on the hatchlings in the nesting caves for me? I’ll be back in a few days.”
Since I’ve been living with him, Stesha has been vanishing for several days at a time every month or so, and I don’t know why. I mean, I know why. He leaves because of his ruts. But why does he feel like he has to leave?
I reach out and grasp his hand. “Just stay. This is your home.”
He sighs heavily. “I wish I could.”
“Where do you go?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I must look sad, because despite how uncomfortable and irritable he feels, he cups my cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
His skin feels burning hot, and I angle my cheek into his palm. His hands are large, and it feels blissful being cradled by him. I grasp his fingers as he pulls away. His wrist is covered with what look like bitemarks. “What are those marks?”
Stesha hesitates and then pulls his sleeve down. “It doesn’t matter.”
I have a vague idea those bites have something to do with his rut. The dragines in his mouth, which all Alphas have. Mother’s warning that Alphas can be demanding comes back to me. “Stesha, how does mating with an Alpha work?”
He makes a choking noise. “Didn’t your mother…? Uh, well, you should speak to the Hratha’len. I know nothing about women, truly.” He says this backing away, and as soon as he reaches the door, he’s striding down the corridor on long legs.
I frown after him. What does he mean, he knows nothing about women? He’s a grown man. Besides, I’m a woman, and I thought he knew me well.
I trail into Stesha’s bedroom, needing more than the comfort of a blanket today.
I get into his bed and draw the blankets up over my head.
I’m enveloped in darkness, Stesha’s rutting scent, and the residual heat from his body.
I moan, stretch, and then curl into a ball in the cozy, fragrant darkness.
I stay there for hours, drifting on bliss.
Eventually, my rumbling belly and thirst drives me from his bed, but I’m hungry for answers just as much as I need sustenance.
Stesha knows nothing about women? Nothing in what sense? I go in search of the only other Alpha I’m close to, and I find him in the Great Hall.
“Do you know anything about women?” I ask the crown prince.
Zabriel’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. He’s drinking a cup of ale, and he lowers it and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Looking everywhere but at me, he says, “I know that… I mean, women are… What are you asking me, Zenevieve?”
“I only know dragonriders, and a few of the City Guard. I’ve noticed that some of us are always, you know, kissing and flirting. I just wondered about the ones who are not, like you. And me. And…and the dragonmaster. And why that is.”
Zabriel rubs the back of his neck, looking awkward. “Well, speaking for myself, and I can only speak for myself, it’s because I’m waiting for my mate.”
“Who is she?” I ask curiously, stepping closer.
“I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet.” He shoots me an apprehensive look. “You weren’t, ah, hoping I’d say you, were you?”
I burst out laughing.
Zabriel scowls. “All right. I’m not that hideous, am I? Even if I am, I’m the crown prince, and I ride the flare’s Alpha. Surely I have some appeal as a mate.”