Chapter Six WITCHING MOON

Chapter Six

WITCHING MOON

Week Two, Day One

Year 3000

Outside of those brief, awkward moments the previous night, Zanya had never been inside the Dragon's Tower.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was the Lord and Master here. Ash's steward, Camlia, ran both castle and keep with an iron fist and a proprietary interest passed down through generations. Her son-in-law managed the crafters' quarters. A niece oversaw the gardens. When it came to the castle's security, the Raven Guard arranged the watch and trained new guard recruits.

There were few places in his own castle where Ash claimed ultimate authority. In spite of Sachi's protests, he even remained diffident about the consort's tower. He always came to them and waited for permission to enter. As comfortable as he seemed there, he clearly considered it Sachi's—and Zanya's—territory. He walked there as a welcome guest, never its master.

But the Dragon's Tower was, without question, his territory. No one entered without permission. The number who had permission was vanishingly small—a handful of trusted servants, Camlia and her grandson, who served as a page, and ... Well, that was it, as far as Zanya knew. He did not often invite friends to visit with him there, and he never invited retainers for meetings. Even Zanya and Sachi had not earned an invitation to his bed.

The Dragon's lair was off-limits.

And Zanya was about to invade it. Again.

At least she intended to use the door this time. She crossed the bridge between their towers, pausing only briefly to admire the spectacular sunset beyond the western peaks. The skies lit up in a dozen gradations of pinks, blues, and violets, all of it bleeding into a deep twilight already awash with stars. It was tempting to linger—with the larger Creator's Moon dark and the smaller Destroyer's Moon barely more than a crescent in the sky, the stars shone with unusual ferocity—but pride forced one foot in front of the other until she stood in front of the massive wooden door to the Dragon's Tower.

Pride might have carried her to the threshold, but nerves made her hesitate, getting the feel of her body before she lifted a hand to the door. A scant week ago, agitated and distracted, she'd attempted to pound on the cook's door and had instead put her fist through it, causing a mild domestic crisis until Camlia arrived to smooth things over.

And that was the crux of all this, wasn't it? The reason she was here? Even knocking felt fraught now. The first tap of her knuckles against oak was too soft, too tentative. She gritted her teeth and rapped harder. Three thuds echoed on the other side, and she jerked her hand away as the door suddenly disappeared.

Ash stood in its place, tall and disheveled, caught between his daytime attire and the casual way he usually appeared in Sachi's quarters. His feet were bare, and his belt was gone. Dark trousers hung low on his hips, and his chest was completely uncovered. Zanya found herself staring at it, tracing the rare scars that crisscrossed his light-brown skin and the flexing muscles she could almost feel beneath her fingers.

"Zanya?"

She jerked her gaze back to his, hoping the shadows hid the flush that warmed her cheeks. "We need to talk. I thought we could ..." She gestured behind him.

She hadn't expected his hesitation or the wariness she could almost taste on the air. But before she could snatch the words back, he'd stepped aside, pulling the door wide. "Come in."

She almost missed the days when he'd called her handmaid . At least the title had provided some distance compared to the way he wrapped his tongue around her name, the way he managed to sound exasperated and fond and hungry to taste her all at the same time.

Hurrying past him with her gaze averted, she made it all of three paces into his quarters before she lifted her head.

She froze. And stared.

She'd been too flustered before to retain more than the vague impression of stone walls and fire-kissed darkness. But the room in which she stood was massive enough to swallow the great hall at Castle Roquebarre. Unlike Sachi's quarters, there were no elegant walls dividing the tower into a dozen different rooms, nor were there plastered ceilings to give the space some sense of proportion.

This room took up the entire top of the Dragon's Tower. He could have stood in the center in his massive dragon form and spread his wings wide without brushing either wall. And while tapestries softened the area around his desk and near his hearth, where the chair she'd found him in before sat, most of the walls were rough-hewn, as if she'd stepped into a mountain cavern.

The splash of water dragged her attention to the side, where five wide steps led up to the edge of a bathing pool sunk deep into the floor. Sachi had one, too, but where hers had been lovingly carved smooth and edged with tile, this massive pool more closely resembled the hot springs they'd swum in during the royal progress. A crystal-clear waterfall hot enough to steam cascaded improbably from above, forming a natural shower. Massive candles dripped wax into niches carved into the stone, and their light reflected off the spray of water droplets like diamonds.

Darkly stained wooden tubs held flowering vines that crawled the walls, a living tapestry in vibrant reds and golds. The plants only enhanced the feeling that she'd wandered into some magical cave—or a dragon's den. She traced the path of the climbing vines to where more steps led up to an even larger dais.

The bed—

No. She would not think about the bed right now.

Zanya whirled, putting her back to it, only to find that Ash had returned to the chair in which she'd found him last time. A matching chair of worn, padded leather sat nearby, with a simple table between them. Ash poured a goblet of wine that smelled sharply of cinnamon and spiced berries and placed it next to the empty chair. "Sit."

There was an edge of command to the word that made her balk. Darker instincts stirred, demanding that she challenge him, but Zanya bit them back. If she'd learned one thing from watching the High Court interact, it was that constant displays of dominance were the provenance of the insecure.

The time would come soon enough to remind him that he could not command her.

So she sat and picked up the goblet. The mulled wine was warm and sweet on her tongue, with the bite of spice and cinnamon that she loved. "It's good."

"Mmm." Ash sank back into his chair, his goblet held lazily in one hand. "So. Do you wish to dance around it for a while? Inquire about my day? I can make small talk about your training."

Yes. Anything to put off the moment when she'd have to face this awkward truth. Zanya took another deep sip and let the soft warmth of the wine sustain her. "I never was much for dancing."

"Neither was I," he admitted. "Look at me, Zanya."

She did, and she almost immediately regretted it. Those beautiful brown eyes held endless sympathy, and the kindness of his words almost broke her. "I thought you were only vanishing when I touched you. I thought it was just me."

The gentleness scraped at raw nerves unaccustomed to such care from anyone but Sachi. But it was the sadness lurking beneath that truly made her heart ache. All this time, he'd thought she was rejecting him. She almost wished it were so. It would be less humiliating than the truth.

"It's not just you. It's not about you or Sachi at all. It's me." She swallowed hard, and it took effort to hold his gaze. "I've always been a coward. And now I can't hide it anymore."

"A coward?"

His voice held disbelief. Irrationally, that only irritated her more. Bad enough to be forced to reveal her shame, but to be met with incredulity? "Obviously I'm a coward. Why do you think it took so long for me to have sex with you?"

"Because that is who you are." He shifted forward, and the feeling of the room changed. As if a great and terrible rage gathered beneath his carefully neutral expression. Like a storm looming on the horizon. "Some people feel desire in an instant. Some feel it only rarely, or once affection and love have grown. Some never feel it at all." Thunder broke across his face in a stormy frown. "There is no wrong way to feel or not feel desire, and there is certainly no cowardice in it."

He said it with such conviction, but he missed the point entirely because he still didn't understand. "I desired you," she countered in a low voice. "Maybe not as swiftly as Sachi, but far more swiftly than I would have liked. But I was afraid, because desire makes you vulnerable. So does pleasure. And I don't like to be vulnerable."

Ash tilted his head and studied her, and she could tell he was sifting through his memories, imagining every time they'd touched. How carefully she'd arranged every encounter to center Sachi's pleasure, or his.

Even alone with Sachi, those moments of being helpless to the pleasure were a thrill she savored and feared in equal measure. The more she craved that loss of control, the deeper her terror grew. And now her instincts had a very literal response to the panic that seized her when orgasm swept away her control—flight.

"I don't think that's it at all."

His voice was so deep and so close that she started. She'd been so tangled in her thoughts that she hadn't heard him move. But he knelt in front of her now, his hands on either arm of her chair, so tall that even on his knees, they were close to eye level. Heat surrounded her. Though he wasn't touching her, she felt caged.

When caged, Zanya always lashed out. Disdain coated her voice. "You think you know me better than I know myself, Dragon?"

"I think I'm learning you. And perhaps you flee from me because you do not wish for me to see you vulnerable." A slow smile curved those full lips. "But I know there is no discomfort on this earth you would not overcome in order to please Sachi. You have no self-preservation where her safety and joy are concerned. If your instincts are carrying you away from her in moments of release, it is to protect her . Not yourself."

Perhaps he knew her a little bit, after all.

Without releasing his gaze, she drained the mulled wine from the beaten copper goblet and held it up between them. Curling her fingers together should have been impossible, but the copper bent like soft taffy with the flex of her hand. The goblet collapsed in on itself, crumpled like a piece of paper in her fist.

"I didn't understand," Zanya rasped, sudden tears stinging her eyes. "I told you not to hold back with her, but I didn't know. I thought I was strong before. Now? I could grab her and crush her bones without even realizing it. I could hurt her so badly ."

Strong fingers pried hers open. Ash took the mangled cup from her hand and set it aside. His thumb ghosted over her palm, a soothing touch that raised goose bumps. "You're going to learn. It won't be overnight, but it will happen faster than you think. Your instincts will catch up to what your body can do, and you'll learn to trust them again."

Zanya shuddered and closed her eyes to block out those compelling brown eyes. "You have to protect her until I can."

"I'll protect you both, always."

"No, not like that—" Zanya swallowed. "In bed. Whether I'm there or not. Maybe—maybe she could sleep in your bed until I have more control—"

"No."

It was so unexpected, the tone so sharp, Zanya's eyes flew open. The sympathetic brown eyes—Ash's eyes—were gone. The Dragon stared at her instead, flames filling his gaze. When he spoke, his voice had dropped to a dangerous rumble. "It's not a good idea for either of you to sleep in my bed."

It was such an abrupt reversal that Zanya blinked. "Why?"

Ash lunged to his feet and stalked away, and warning prickled down Zanya's spine. Not of magic, but of the predatory instinct that told her danger lurked. With every step he took, Ash seemed more ... untamed. There was a feral edge to him that set off alarm bells when he abruptly stopped, his back to her. Firelight caressed strong muscles as he exhaled roughly.

"This is the only place in the castle, the only place in this world , that belongs only to the Dragon. When I'm here, I'm closer to my other self. Less human. Less ..." He trailed off, then glanced back at her, and she recognized that stare. It was the predator who peeked out when they sparred. The one who played with her to see who would come out on top. "Less accommodating."

Something that would no doubt fulfill all of Sachi's fondest wishes. Zanya felt more hesitant. "Are you saying that you'd hurt her?"

"Not physically." His gaze swept toward the bed, and for the first time Zanya realized there were silver rings decorating the stone wall above the vast surface—silver rings strung with delicate chains. "But there are ways to scare a person that hurt just as much."

Zanya might not be experienced in the sexual games people played, but neither was she naive. And she knew Sachi. "I thought you'd been fucking people for thousands of years. If you're worried that Sachi would be upset if you chained her to your bed and played conquering possessive Dragon with her, you aren't very observant."

He huffed, a sound torn between frustration and amusement. "That's the point. It wouldn't be a game." And suddenly he was moving , lunging toward her in a blur of movement that would have been too fast for a mortal to see.

But Zanya wasn't mortal anymore.

Her brain told her his outstretched hands were aiming for the back of the chair. He only meant to loom over her, to grind in his point by using his speed and the size of his body. To scare her a little, if he could. There was no threat here, but her body reacted the way training had taught it—on instinct.

And training told her the precise moment to lift her leg and plant a foot in his chest. He stumbled, off-balance, hands flailing for the back of the chair, which was already tilting backward under the force of his advance. She waited until momentum was in her favor and extended her leg, sending him flying over her head.

Of course, the chair was still going down, and it was too late to stop it. She flipped free of the smashed remains and rolled up into a defensive crouch, only to find Ash in a mirror pose a few feet away, his eyes ablaze.

Not just rage in those fiery eyes, but heat, too. It unspooled inside her in reaction, the same damned spark that made her want to fight every last member of the High Court. Was it desire? With the others, not quite. There would always be something arousing in the challenge of a fight, in the flex of muscles and ruthless competence and the hunger to triumph, to conquer . She felt that heat with the Raven Guard, with Elevia, with Ulric ...

But not like this. Not this hot. Not this ... dark. She wanted to tear this room apart until they were both breathless and bruised, and then ... And then ...

And then what ?

She was breathing unsteadily, even though the exertion couldn't have winded her. "If you want to tie Sachi to your bed and play the conquering Dragon, what do you want to do to me?"

His slow smile tingled like he'd stroked a hand over every inch of her body. "Sweet, deadly Zanya. You're not ready for the things I'd do to you."

Pride made her bare her teeth at him in outright challenge. "Oh? Have you got something more deviant up there than chains attached to your bed?"

"Are you brave enough to find out?"

No, not remotely. But she was in too deep now. Keeping a wary eye on him, she rose and ascended the steps that led to his bed.

Now that she was closer, she could see that the walls on either side had been carved with recesses, like irregular shelves. She approached the ones on the left side and found the items you'd expect when a man had chains on his headboard. Leather wrist cuffs with shiny buckles, lined with the softest fur. Larger ones undoubtedly meant for ankles, perhaps even arms or legs. Silken braids of rope. More lengths of chain.

Another shelf held long, hand-carved boxes that looked as if they should contain daggers. Curious, Zanya traced her fingers over the dark-stained oak and flipped the latch. But it wasn't a dagger she found resting on the velvet. Made from swirling glass and decorated with intricate ridges, the phallic toy rivaled Ash in size. She'd never seen its like before, but had no trouble imagining its uses—or the sounds Sachi would make as Zanya—

Ash's footsteps echoed behind her. Zanya jerked her fingers away and moved on to the next shelf. Jar after jar of potions lined this one, with delicate handwritten labels. They ranged in color from blood-red to the palest gold, and had evocative names like Dragon's Blood and Night of Fire, Witchwood Euphoria and Empath's Kiss and Lover's Touch.

"Not as wide a selection as Aleksi's, but Inga has never been stingy. And she delights in concoctions that enhance sensation."

If the wine she'd had at the Lover's Villa on union night was anything to go on, Zanya was sure the contents of these bottles could heat the blood in ways that defied imagination. But it wasn't so terribly shocking. "I expected worse. This is all very tame for a fearsome monster."

A final step brought the heat of him against her back. His breath tickled her ear. "What did you expect? Whips? Shackles? I have those, too, though I confess they've never been to my tastes. Pleasure has always been my torment of choice."

She agreed with him, personally, but she still tried to laugh it off. "Is that really a torment?"

"You know it is, Zanya." Fingers touched her shoulder. In this painfully intimate moment, even the lightest brush over her skin felt illicit enough to tighten her nipples into hard points. Shadows started to stir around her fingers, a tentative offer to whisk her away from temptation. She struggled against them, pride stiffening her spine.

She would not flee from him. She would not give him the satisfaction.

His touch traced lower, down her arm, ghosting over one of her scars as his voice wove a spell around her. "Pleasure strips you bare, reveals your soul. It makes you vulnerable, just as you said. And that's what I crave in my bed. Pleasure so deep it strips away all artifice, all masks."

Sachi's dream come true ... and Zanya's nightmare.

Warm fingers stroked back up over her shoulder. His knuckles grazed the side of her neck, streaking fire straight to her core. When his lips touched the shell of her ear, she sucked in an unsteady breath. "And it goes both ways," he murmured. "The satisfaction I would take in every screaming, sobbing orgasm, the greedy way I would demand more and more ... That reveals me for what I am. Possessive and ravenous and insatiable."

"The Dragon," Zanya whispered.

"Exactly." His thumb traced along her jaw. "And do you know what I think, Zanya?"

She was breathing too hard. She wanted to lean back against him, rub against his heat. She wanted to tilt her head and bite his fingers in warning. She wanted to whirl and bear him to the floor, pinning all this heat and strength beneath her. Claim it as her own. Answering him was almost impossible. "What do you think?"

"I think you're just like me." He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her ear. "Possessive." His lips grazed the shell of her ear, and her knees almost buckled. "Greedy." He spoke the last word directly against her ear, setting her aflame. "Insatiable."

She certainly felt all those things. She drew another unsteady breath, but her voice broke on his name. She gave in to the need, pressing back against him, rubbing against his heat even as the shadows threatened again. Her heart was beating too fast. She didn't know if it was fear or need.

Gentle hands gripped her shoulders and turned her, leaving her staring up into Ash's serious brown eyes. His lips were so close to hers that his low words felt like a kiss. "I will take care of Sachi," he promised, even as the shadows climbed Zanya's body. "In bed and out of it. And when it becomes too much, Zanya—when you need to feel without worrying about hurting her—you will come and hurt me ."

Then he was kissing her, hot and demanding, his tongue driving between her parted lips with such domineering challenge that she raked her fingernails over his scalp in an instinctive warning that resulted in a rumble of pleasure. Her entire body pulsed, overwhelmed with the need to meet that challenge, to drive him to the floor, to conquer him—

The shadows seized her, jerking her away to the blank safety of the Void, where she hung for an endless moment, gasping for breath that would not come.

Oh, the irony of it all. For years she'd been a helpless human, training to kill a dragon she loathed. Now she was a god, belatedly aflame with the desire that would have made her mission to destroy him so simple ...

And now she feared hurting him.

Laughter stole the breath she'd barely regained, laughter that echoed through her empty world as she let her body and blood cool.

She would learn to control these powers. And then Sachielle and the Dragon would be hers.