Chapter 10

Alistair Obsidian-Claw had never come so hard in his entire immortal life. His twin flame was indeed a fiery thing. Not only had she taken everything he had given her, she had demanded more. Despite her initial hesitation, she had trusted him to guide her to pleasure.

Now, she curled up atop his chest, her breaths coming slow and even as she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

Alistair should have felt restless—a dragon never slept well away from the seat of its hoard, and his golden mountain had been the only place he'd found solace since he'd first amassed it. He had no desire to wake his mate by carrying her over there. She had earned a rest after the day she'd had.

It was more than sexual satiation that eased his ever-tense muscles. There was a blood-deep contentment that settled him for perhaps the first time in his life.

My mate. Mine.

She was a more precious gift than he ever imagined.

Woe be to anyone who dared try to take what was his…

Despite the dark, he studied her with perfect vision. The flush that remained across her skin, fading slowly. The curve of her ear, peeking out from tendrils of yellow hair. The feeling of her little nails as they curved against his chest, the nails clear and pink, unlike his obsidian ones.

The scars.

Even now, the sight threatened to send him into a rage. He decided to view them differently. Were they evidence someone had dared abuse his Lenora? Yes. But they were also proof that his mate was strong. She was not one to shatter, to whimper. She was one to attempt to murder the dragon who had taken her (as was his due) in his sleep; some violence from another human would not break her.

Still, the person who did it would die. It was simply a matter of coaxing the name she was so reluctant to give from her lips. He admired her loyalty, but it was misdirected. In time, it would belong to him alone. She would confide in him, and he then would destroy whoever had done this.

But he was a dragon. He had time.

And if not, well, he could simply set the entire continent ablaze. That ought to take care of the problem just as well, though his mate might disapprove.

He expected her to sleep the rest of the night, but the female roused in his arms only a smattering of hours later.

For a moment, she startled, as if having forgotten where she was. He settled her back, stroking her exposed skin with a tenderness he hadn't known himself capable of.

"So this wasn't a dream," she murmured.

He grinned. "If this is typical for your dreams, then I should very much like to visit them, precious one."

She chuckled against him. It was the first genuine laugh he had heard from her. The sound sent a bolt of arousal down to his member, causing him to stiffen.

She felt it, too. "Surely you couldn't want more after that."

The poor thing sounded scandalized, so he hid his grin. "Lenora Tashe, I'll always want more of you." It would sound like banal flattery to her mortal ears, instead of the simple truth it was. He could go a dozen more times that evening if she wished, but he had no salve ready for any bruises she might gain from his rough lovemaking. Such items hadn't warranted a place in his hoard before; he would have to rectify that. Perhaps take a stray healer in to create a vat.

"You can call me Nora, you know. Everyone else does. Or did, I guess." She didn't sound overly upset at the correction, he noted. Perhaps it would be easier to coax the name of the offender than Alistair expected.

"Do you dislike when I call you by your name?"

She considered, then shook her head, blonde tresses caressing his bare chest. "I suppose not. It's just that no one else does."

"Mmm. That pleases me. I like having your name all to myself."

She snorted. "You really are greedy about strange things."

"I'm a dragon."

"And that explains it all, doesn't it?"

As far as Alistair was concerned, it did. He was a dragon. And she was his twin flame.

He would have to tell her that.

Not tonight. Not while she was still wary. Soon, though.

"Tell me, Lenora"—he found he truly did enjoy saying her name all the more now that it was his, as far as he was concerned—"what were you attempting to do, stabbing me with my own scale?"

She froze in his arms like startled prey, and Alistair exhaled in frustration. "I'm not upset, as I told you. I'm simply curious. The only thing that could upset me is if you attempted to flee again, and you won't, correct?"

She eased back, twisting slightly so she might look at him. Since he had let the flames on the walls go out for her to sleep, it was impossible for her feeble human eyes to see him as he did her. With a thought, he stirred the lights again. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her to be as obsessed with him as he was with her.

"I barely think I could stand at this moment, so no, I won't flee," she agreed. "But wouldn't most anyone be angry if someone tried to kill them?"

"Anyone else might be in danger. I am in none; I'm invulnerable." For the moment. Now that he had his Lenora, that would change. But the thought was not as frightening as he might have expected. Treasure came with a cost—you had to protect it. The most valuable prize of all was surely worth a genuine threat of death.

Lenora blew a breath through her mouth.

"Displeased?" Alistair teased. Or maybe it was not a jest; maybe she really wanted him dead. He would fix that, if it were true. Though it might be a bit of a blow to his ego.

"No, no. It's just… I was told by that old woman, the same one who convinced the village to offer me up, that a dragon only lowers its guard in its hoard and sheds its scales and that those scales can pierce it…" She trailed off, considering him anew.

His clever mate. He grinned. "You're thinking perhaps the shedding was less literal, and that a discarded obsidian scale could pierce my heart while I am in this form. That would be incorrect. I am as indestructible in this shape as when I wear my wings."

"I guess it was nonsense then. Along with the rest."

"The rest?"

A fresh blush colored her cheeks. "She also said I was to wed you, and that would save the village."

Perhaps there was more to this seer than any in the village realized. Especially if she had correctly foreseen what Lenora was to him. It was likely the rest of what she had said was correct as well, but the words had been miscast. His own self did not refer to his scales, but the being that was part of his soul. Because Lenora Tashe was more than his mate.

She was the only female capable of killing him.