First they’d come at her with long flaming torches, lit her clothes on fire, and lobbed bundles of kindling at her. Her tunic and trousers hissed and singed and fell to the floor, but she stood naked and unharmed. She could even feel her hair about shoulders. She should have been bald and eyebrow-less, but not a single hair on her body had been burned away.
Right, so that was weird as all hells, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. Whatever luck she had, she just hoped it carried on.
Xandrie ran through the scene in the alley with Darsen a hundred times or more, trying to make sense of what had happened. Not the “attempted rape” part, that much didn’t need investigating. The man had assaulted her with intent, plain and simple. No, the thing that interested her was the burn marks she’d left on his chest. That, along with the fact that her executioners weren’t able to roast her to death, led her inexorably to the conclusion that fire was, somehow, her friend. She knew it hadn’t always been the case - she’d burned herself plenty of times. But somehow, now, she had magics, after all.
She laughed humorlessly. Her family had written her off, called her a dunderhead, laughed at her attempts to conjure herbs from the ground as needed, but perhaps she was to have the last laugh?
She heard her latest assailants before she saw them. An entire contingent of the Guard was coming at her with the most incredible array of weapons. She counted ten steel-headed pikes, fourteen rapiers, a dozen or more lances and who-knows-what else. They’d arranged themselves like a Roman legion, line after line of chain-mail-covered cowards, waiting on the order to charge.
Xandrie closed her eyes and hid her face under her hands for good measure, but seconds passed, and nothing. She dropped her hands, and frowned, confused to see their weapons at her feet. None had touched her; none had made it closer than a foot. They’d been stopped by a wall of dancing golden flames.
Eventually, the wall of fire dropped and three guards sprang into action, binding her wrists, punching her in the kidneys, and dragging her back to her cell. She’d been back behind bars for less than ten minutes, when she heard her jailors talking about how best to rid themselves of, “the one who consorts with the Demon.”
Just so much crap. She’d never so much as read about a demon, let alone summoned one and agreed to do its bidding. These people were extremely excitable, to say nothing of gullible.
“The ducking stool is ready, sir.”
Xandrie felt a chill run down her spine. She’d seen people drowned in the pond at the center of the village; their eyes bulging and tongue swollen to twice its natural size. Not a pretty sight and not the way she planned to end her days on Eartia. The thought of her breath being gobbled from her lungs by the water sprites filled her with dread.
There was commotion in the corridor. Someone high up must be coming to have a gander at the prisoner. She hadn’t heard that much noise the entire time she’d been in captivity. What the hell were they doing?
She pulled her scabby, flea-infested blanket over her nakedness before the door opened.
Xandrie wasn’t given to gaping, but the man standing in the doorframe was decked out in such incredible attire, she scarcely knew where to look first. Her eye was drawn to the shimmering gold edging around his crimson cloak, then down to his leggings – holy hell, the man was stacked – then back up to his broad shoulders and mane of wayward hair.
But it was his eyes that made her stomach do somersaults. She didn’t let that show, of course. He was clearly a trap of some kind, some Duke or Earl who wanted to curry favor with Darsen, sent to escort her to a watery end. She narrowed her eyes and readied herself for the next onslaught.
If she was going to go down, she’d go down swinging.
First Sight
Rhey managed to hold back the growl that began in his groin and traveled through his entire body when he threw open the cell door and saw the woman Demelza had called Xandrie. Wrapped only in a filthy blanket, she was radiant. Her auburn hair fell around her bare shoulders – dear gods, he wanted his mouth on her skin – and her eyes, flecked with a gold so bright he thought he might never look away, burned into his. Her fight-ready stance reeked of defiance, but she smelled of fresh-tapped maple and crushed cloves.
He mentally checked in to be sure his jaw hadn’t hit the floor, his hands weren’t clenching and unclenching in their eagerness to explore her, and his pants weren’t stretched tight over his erection.
Ours, the beast inside him said. Our treasure.
“You going to stare at me all day or should we just get to the part where you cowards strap me to a stool and plunge me into the pond?”
Her voice was no siren’s song, though he was baffled to know what he’d expected, because each harsh word – delivered with a sneer – only amped up his desire. He knew he was gawping. He also knew he had to stop. He had no right. The Elders had spoken; they were preparing the Claiming right now.
And, in any case, she was a human and there was no way on Eartia a dragon and a human would be permitted to pair. He shook his head, willing the thoughts of what he’d like to do to her – with her, on her, in her – away.
“Demelza sent me.” His voice sounded normal, if a little lower than usual. Good. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able speak at all.
Xandrie cocked her head and she dropped her “fight or flight, feet apart, fists at the ready” posture.
His dragon groaned, deep in his belly, for a second time. She was naked under the blanket; he could see her when she moved under the slight, dirty fabric. He needed her covered up, so he could attempt to think straight.
Xandrie was on it; she moved past him and found some clothes in a cupboard. “Turn around,” she said.
He obeyed, not needing the visual. If he saw her completely naked, he might take her right then - who cared about the armed guards standing by?
In seconds, she was at his side, fully dressed in an unbecoming uniform that totally drowned her, and ready to flee. She popped her head outside her cell. Most of her former jailors lay, unconscious, in the corridor.
“You took out the guards?” she smiled, visibly enjoying seeing her enemies on the floor.
Rhey could have groaned; if she had been a damsel in distress, offended by violence, like humans were supposed to be, he might have been turned off, but of course, she was as bloodthirsty as any dragon female.
“What did they imprison you for, anyway?”
Xandrie shrugged, looking away, before trying for a casual tone, “Consorting with a Demon, and all that.”
In other circumstances, that might have made him laugh. He’d seen demon-sworn minions, and she wasn’t one of them - not by a long shot. There was no mark on her face, none peeking under her clothes, save for a rune on her hand: an Aether rune. No demon could bear one of those. But, as far as he knew, no human should, either.
He wasn’t amused now because the woman looked sad, wounded. He moved closer, his body taking over; reaching her, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips on her forehead, just as he did with Demelza.