Chapter 17
Lazing at the entrance to his cave, Kier stared out at the ocean’s horizon. The sun had yet to reach him, but he was quite content to rest there until it did. It should be soon.
The scent of brine was welcome, the crash of waves relaxing, and the oncoming warmth of spring a balm from the cold. The day was nice, and he was finally allowing himself to take a moment to let his anxieties unwind.
All would be well, he hoped. He just needed a little patience now. It no longer felt like the world was closing in on him, crushing him in a lack of action or success. It was no longer a race.
He’d finished sorting through his hoard of books – the task was no longer about Selene’s survival – simply because he was incapable of quitting something once he’d started it. The stacks still needed putting away on designated shelves, but at least they were organised.
He’d tend to it another time, another day. Perhaps tomorrow.
There was nothing else he could do.
Well, not nothing. There were other avenues he could take, like searching for the Sorcerer and leaving Aysu to tend to Selene in his no doubt lengthy absence.
Perhaps he could seek out the king’s infamous bookworm who had too much knowledge in his thick head – although he was a horrible gossip who would accidentally let slip why Kier had sought him. Selene might hate Kier for that.
He could try to master something he’d already failed time and time again: Balor’s ability.
Other than that, he had no idea who else he could turn to for witchcraft aid.
Most of his kind shunned learning it, and only those who were ruthless hunters studied it for their own protection.
The language was a mutilated version of dragoncraft with special nuances that, if spoken or written incorrectly, could cause a different reaction.
The WitchSlayer would likely know of an answer.
But Rurik was a hateful, angry being, much like his mother.
The male would tell him to fuck off for even approaching his lair unannounced before he’d even learned of why Kier had come.
I’d head-butt him, then we would fight, and then I’d likely walk out half maimed.
The fact that he had a mate at all surprised all of dragonkind.
He was also a week’s flight away, on the complete other side of this vast continent of five human countries and one witch territory, past the barbaric, war-torn southlands.
Footsteps tapped against the stone, and Kier noted the distinct difference of them. The heels of the slippers he gave her were harder and a touch taller, making their strikes sharper.
She’s on the move.
He could follow where she went by nothing but the proximity of their echoes.
She went to the cooking alcove to eat and remained there a little while.
She ventured a touch closer, checking in on Selene, and only stayed a short while.
Then she descended his tunnels, going further and further until such a lightweight, human-formed creature could no longer produce sounds to carry this far.
The side of his mouth quirked when her footfalls re-entered his hearing range not long after. They slowed at every alcove she passed, then sped up to the next one. She was sprightly as always, so long as she rested well.
And Kier had ensured she went undisturbed.
He crossed his wrists for comfort when he knew she’d spotted him on the other side of his greeting area. Carwyn strode across it, and he turned his head over his shoulder with a greeting on the tip of his tongue.
It quickly died as he reared his head back.
She’s wearing the dress I gave her. She’d opted for the blue, the one he’d thought was boring because it was simpler than the elegant yellow one with lace.
The blue was more of a peasant’s outing attire, but he thought she might prefer it after learning of her life a little more.
Perhaps fine things made her uncomfortable.
Kier felt the pull of his slitted pupils dilating at seeing her in his gift, allowing a touch more light into his vision as she neared.
The sky-blue skirt swayed around her ankles, long and warm – he’d made sure of it. The full-length sleeves were buttoned around her wrists. He’d thought the dress was simple when he’d found it after digging through the articles of clothing he owned, but he realised it wouldn’t have mattered on her.
She looked... sublime in it.
The bodice was tight – the type requiring tying at the back – and his gaze darted down at how low the neckline was. He licked the inside of his maw at the way her generous breasts threatened to spill from it, his pupils dilating a little more.
Soft. He now had a rather intricate understanding of just how soft her breasts were against his body, his scales. But it was his first time seeing them in any form of flesh, even if it was just the tops of her mounds. He knew they were exceptionally malleable.
His groin tingled, causing his protective seam to twitch when hardness subtly swelled behind it.
Alarmed by his own reaction, he tried to avert his gaze upwards and instead snagged her onyx eyes, and this time he bit back a slight groan.
He had no idea if it was due to her relenting and wearing his gift, because of her appearance in general, or because of their embrace that morning.
She came to his side while remaining safely back from the edge of the cliff and tilted forward with her hands clamped behind her back. A ponytail of loose curls slipped down the crook of her neck, resting against her chest, and it dragged his gaze back there.
I’ve never seen her curls before.
Usually her hair was braided in some form, although the texture hinted at its curl pattern, as did the flick at the tied ends. Now that the strands were free, he noticed the different mixing hues of chestnut brown that he instantly grew more interested in.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted.
Thankfully he was too large and she too small to likely notice the subtle upwards shift of his gaze to her face.
“You’re in the dress I gave you.”
Rosiness stained her light-brown cheeks, and she grabbed the skirt to sway it, as if to show him. “I thought I’d finally give in,” she stated, before narrowing her gaze at him. “I refuse to give it back now, should you demand it.”
The stain of her flush did nothing but make her stubborn glare cute, and heat rushed through him to simmer, once again, in his groin.
“That’s the point,” he stated, rather enjoying her petulant side that she had no issue brandishing against him.
He appreciated that she wasn’t overly petite in form, even if he liked the thought of her being small when he was simply so huge most of the time.
She looked... fun in all the right ways, her body hinting at an hourglass curve to it, and the growing urge to discover exactly how was bubbling within him.
With teasing, argumentative words. With tricks and play that would be foreign to his kind.
And somewhere along the way his mind had started thinking about touch. Platonic... surely. Maybe.
His currently aching cock stated otherwise.
Her onyx eyes flicked over his calm expression, but they lacked the general wariness she’d worn over the last week or so.
She appeared to make a decision, one that indicated she was pleased with his response. She took a seat next to him by kneeling on the ground.
His breaths were a little quicker than he was comfortable with, his heart faster than he liked. When he realised, he unstuck his sight from her and peered out over the horizon with a small amount of horror.
Why did my dick harden at the sight of her? Not completely – he wasn’t overwhelmed with lust – but even the slight stirring was alarming.
His eyes flicked to the corners of his lids, finding the tip of her pert nose in the sun.
He dismissed his momentary spike of lust as his cock began to deflate at his panic. No. Surely not. He was just reacting like any male would at a female finally showing appreciation for a gift. It didn’t help that it was upon her skin, wrapping her in it, much like how he’d done the night before.
“Kier,” she started, without looking away from the view of the sea.
“Carwyn,” he answered, voice low.
“Why did I wake up on a giant pillow?”
Mirth tingled his chest, and quirked the corners of his maw.
Once she’d gone limp in his arms, he’d changed his size to carry her around without jostling her awake – despite the fact that he hadn’t moved to place her down straight away.
It amused him that she’d slept like the dead.
She peeked at him, then gave him a dull expression with her lids lowered. “No, seriously. What happened to my bedding?”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was awful?” he asked sincerely, his brows furrowing. “I went to lay you down, and it was like I’d placed you directly on the stones. I thought the cushions I gave you would be comfortable, not so insubstantial that they seemed to disappear under any weight upon them.”
Her full lips pouted further. “You didn’t intend for them to be uncomfortable?”
He tsked that she’d think so lowly of him. “No.”
He’d tried to offer comfort and warmth, even when he hadn’t liked her at all – not half-feigned kindness to be cruel. Everything he did was with full intention. He would’ve just thrown a blanket at her otherwise and told her to sleep on the ground.
If that was how he’d intended to treat her, he would’ve put her in a locked alcove... like a dark witch.
A soft, humming laugh came from her, eyes crinkling with humour as she said, “I forgive you then.”
Kier wiggled his head side to side as he licked his maw, annoyed that he’d even required forgiving in this regard. But he enjoyed her laughter and couldn’t remember if he’d ever elicited the sound from her before.
After a short bout of silence, he tapped a claw upon the stone. It appears neither of us wishes to bring up last night. Their truce, their cuddle, how she’d subtly stroked his scales, or why he’d put his arms around her.
She didn’t apologise for doing so, didn’t ask how long they lay there – which was far too long even after she’d fallen asleep.