her brain screaming
about abominations and the irrational part humming with excitement
at the rightness of this, Cora lifted her head to look down
the length of her body. When she moved, her vision stuttered,
blanked, returned in the same loop, but the dragon had changed. A
man hovered above her in the dragon’s shadow—part of the dragon,
part of its shadow. She couldn’t make out his features, just knew
that she knew him. He pressed her down with a kiss and whispered
something; she strained to hear what he said.
Instead, she heard Greg’s voice, the second
half of a sentence: “…nothing you can do to reverse it. You must
choose one or the other or they’ll kill each other trying to win
you.”
Cora’s fantasy/nightmare stopped cold. Her
palms were sweaty. Greg was looking at her as if she had two heads.
She was not only disturbed at the direction her libido had taken
but also at the sinister conclusion to Greg’s explanation of her
choices. She needed to move, to outrun the throb between her legs,
but when she started to stand, he grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, yanking her
hand back. She was too sensitive after the fantasy…whatever it
was—too real to be imagined—after her rendezvous with the dragon,
its surprise attack.
Greg let go, but a scrap of white silk
fluttered down onto his open palm. One knot remained in the silk.
Cora felt her stomach drop.
“You untied it,” she whispered, unsure
herself whether it was a question or an accusation.
He folded his fingers around the scarf,
balled it up in his big hand. “I didn’t. It must’ve come loose.” He
reached to touch her knee with his other hand, said gently, “You
have to be careful. I don’t know what happened just now, but I know something did.”
She ignored him and put her head between her
knees, looping her arms around her ankles. The position was
undignified, but she didn’t want to look at Greg, and she couldn’t
breathe, so it killed two birds with one stone. He touched her
hair, and she flinched. Her scalp tingled.
“Talk to me. I want to help you deal with
this.”
“If you want to help, take yours back.”
He wrapped a lock of her hair around his
finger, caressing her ear and making her shiver. Goosebumps tingled
on her skin. Greg frightened her; his anger, the bizarre
possessiveness he’d displayed when they last met, and his
connection with the violent dragon, all made her regret allowing
him to be alone with her behind a closed door.
“I could,” he said, “but that won’t make it
go away.”
Cora broke away from his touch and struggled
to her feet. Her knees were weak, and her head swam with the sudden
move, but she shook it off and wobbled across the room. “I’m not
going to participate in this.”
“Then let them kill one another.” Greg’s
voice was neutral. “I wouldn’t like to lose this part of myself,
and I doubt the other—what did you call us? Dragonlords?—the other
Dragonlord would be happy with the demise of his dragon. It is,
however, your choice.”
She cast a withering look over her shoulder.
“I don’t appreciate the amateur attempt at guilt-tripping me, and
you’d have to mean a lot more to me than you do for that to
work.”
Greg ran a hand through his hair. “Do you
think I don’t understand how precarious your position is? You made
a mistake and stumbled into something you wouldn’t have voluntarily
gotten into had you known the facts. Now you have to deal with it,
but the solution requires a sacrifice you’re either not willing to
make, or not ready to make.”
When she didn’t say anything in response,
Greg went on. “Traditionally, courtship with a dragon spans years.
You undergo very specific instruction as to methods of control and
self-preservation, yes, but you also learn about history and
legend. You engage directly with the dragon, as well as with its
lord, and work to form a bond together.”
“This is so medieval,” Cora said,
about abominations and the irrational part humming with excitement
at the rightness of this, Cora lifted her head to look down
the length of her body. When she moved, her vision stuttered,
blanked, returned in the same loop, but the dragon had changed. A
man hovered above her in the dragon’s shadow—part of the dragon,
part of its shadow. She couldn’t make out his features, just knew
that she knew him. He pressed her down with a kiss and whispered
something; she strained to hear what he said.
Instead, she heard Greg’s voice, the second
half of a sentence: “…nothing you can do to reverse it. You must
choose one or the other or they’ll kill each other trying to win
you.”
Cora’s fantasy/nightmare stopped cold. Her
palms were sweaty. Greg was looking at her as if she had two heads.
She was not only disturbed at the direction her libido had taken
but also at the sinister conclusion to Greg’s explanation of her
choices. She needed to move, to outrun the throb between her legs,
but when she started to stand, he grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, yanking her
hand back. She was too sensitive after the fantasy…whatever it
was—too real to be imagined—after her rendezvous with the dragon,
its surprise attack.
Greg let go, but a scrap of white silk
fluttered down onto his open palm. One knot remained in the silk.
Cora felt her stomach drop.
“You untied it,” she whispered, unsure
herself whether it was a question or an accusation.
He folded his fingers around the scarf,
balled it up in his big hand. “I didn’t. It must’ve come loose.” He
reached to touch her knee with his other hand, said gently, “You
have to be careful. I don’t know what happened just now, but I know something did.”
She ignored him and put her head between her
knees, looping her arms around her ankles. The position was
undignified, but she didn’t want to look at Greg, and she couldn’t
breathe, so it killed two birds with one stone. He touched her
hair, and she flinched. Her scalp tingled.
“Talk to me. I want to help you deal with
this.”
“If you want to help, take yours back.”
He wrapped a lock of her hair around his
finger, caressing her ear and making her shiver. Goosebumps tingled
on her skin. Greg frightened her; his anger, the bizarre
possessiveness he’d displayed when they last met, and his
connection with the violent dragon, all made her regret allowing
him to be alone with her behind a closed door.
“I could,” he said, “but that won’t make it
go away.”
Cora broke away from his touch and struggled
to her feet. Her knees were weak, and her head swam with the sudden
move, but she shook it off and wobbled across the room. “I’m not
going to participate in this.”
“Then let them kill one another.” Greg’s
voice was neutral. “I wouldn’t like to lose this part of myself,
and I doubt the other—what did you call us? Dragonlords?—the other
Dragonlord would be happy with the demise of his dragon. It is,
however, your choice.”
She cast a withering look over her shoulder.
“I don’t appreciate the amateur attempt at guilt-tripping me, and
you’d have to mean a lot more to me than you do for that to
work.”
Greg ran a hand through his hair. “Do you
think I don’t understand how precarious your position is? You made
a mistake and stumbled into something you wouldn’t have voluntarily
gotten into had you known the facts. Now you have to deal with it,
but the solution requires a sacrifice you’re either not willing to
make, or not ready to make.”
When she didn’t say anything in response,
Greg went on. “Traditionally, courtship with a dragon spans years.
You undergo very specific instruction as to methods of control and
self-preservation, yes, but you also learn about history and
legend. You engage directly with the dragon, as well as with its
lord, and work to form a bond together.”
“This is so medieval,” Cora said,
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