Chapter 2

The maiden was new. He had been offered any number of trinkets over the years, but this was the first time the humans had decided to part with one of their own.

He hadn't yet decided if he was insulted or flattered.

Upon seeing her, even before she'd been led over to him, he'd decided he would have her. Dragons enjoyed acquiring all manner of lovely things, and indeed, she was counted among that number.

Most humans looked alike. But there was something about her. The way she sat atop the horse, proud and angry. Her unflinching gaze—well… unflinching, until he'd finally picked her up and hauled her to his trove. If the screaming had lasted much longer, he might have dropped her just to spare his ears.

He regarded her now with curiosity, through the barest slits of his eyes. He wanted to know what she would do.

Escape, no doubt. Oh, she wouldn't get far, but it might be entertaining to watch her try.

Alistair was in desperate need of entertainment.

Life had gotten dull. Even his yearly haul from this kingdom—he of course harvested from all the local kingdoms, one kingdom each season—did not cheer him. How his only kin had gone to other lands centuries ago and not been seen since. Maybe he needed more treasure. One could never have too much gold.

But perhaps there was another issue.

He went unchallenged. Everyone was afraid of him.

Well, with good reason. Word of his wicked deeds kept the puny mortals in line. He could stomach the indigestion the suits of iron gave him as he swallowed some of the king's men, as a reminder that he was not a dragon to be messed with, but having a fearsome reputation cut down on the stomach aches required.

Oh, they had tried to kill him in the beginning. If he had been a lesser dragon, perhaps an amethyst or peridot one, one of their attempts might have even been successful.

But Alistair was an obsidian dragon.

There was but one thing that could kill him, and some over-confident soldier seeking his fortune was not it.

Boredom was a disease. After the past few years, it had taken root in him, a restlessness under his skin that unsettled him that he could not escape, not even when he flew high above the clouds.

He considered the female.

To his surprise, she had not yet attempted to flee.

No, she kept glancing at him, to see if he stirred, but he'd had centuries to hone his skills, and deceiving a simple human was nothing at all.

He resisted the urge to snore dramatically to set her at ease that he was "truly" asleep. His snores were known to shake mountains and might startle the tiny female.

Instead of attempting to scamper off, she examined his haul. Her fingers lingered on one of the tomes the scribes had offered him. She lifted the jeweled cover and began to page through the book.

Usually, Alistair despised others touching his hoard.

He had set others, including—especially—other dragons on fire for less.

There was something different about this human. He had begun to suspect he knew the reason, but he could not be certain. Not in this form.

Perhaps it was simply that she was part of his hoard. It made sense. He did not get jealous over his books when a piece of textile draped over them. Why should he mind her?

She was simply a belonging.

Unless…

She turned from the books and examined the rest of the haul. He hadn't brought everything. The livestock was cumbersome; animals had a habit of defecating in his claws when he carried them, but at least they were tasty. He would return when he wanted an easy snack. Normally, he made a few trips to carry everything, but for some reason, he did not want to leave this female's company.

Was she impressed by the wealth he had inspired the others to part with? Alistair never let others see his hoard, so he had no one to show off to. Not that he needed the validation. But surely it was more wealth than the female had ever dreamed of.

She should be impressed.

But she barely contained a scoff as she took in the golden chaise he'd been offered and thumbed through the textiles with hardly a care.

She was dressed in the manner of peasants, or at least, that was what Alistair assumed. He didn't spend much time studying the breed. One, they were inferior. Two, they tended to run away screaming, and it had gotten bothersome to try.

Humans also tended to defecate in his claws on the rare occasion he deigned to carry them. It was a mark in the female's favor that she had not done so.

Would she take some of the fine fabrics and change? He would allow it; she was part of his hoard after all. It reflected badly on him to have a female in such shambles. Even through the tiniest slits of his eyelids, it was obvious her clothing was old and frayed. Holes in her smock; worn boots on her feet. At least she had bathed recently. Sometimes humans forgot, and he was tempted to incinerate the smelly ones on principle.

But she ignored the textiles.

Alistair bit back on the urge to huff. What, it wasn't good enough for her?

But she seemed to be on a mission. Instead of moving towards the exit, she moved farther into the caves. His hoard was buried deep in the mountain, as was proper, but he had a few fragments around, piles of old offerings that decorated the space.

She appeared to be searching for something.

But what could it be?

He twisted his head to see as she moved out of his sight. She flinched at the noise, and he quickly settled back down. A palm was pressed against her generous bosom as if steadying herself.

Alistair bit down a laugh, or what passed for a laugh in this form. The urge startled him. When was the last time he'd had such an impulse?

This human… he would keep her for a while, he decided. She would not solve the permanent issue of boredom that plagued him, but she could be his entertainment for a time.

She continued farther, past where he could see. He had a choice: reveal his human form to her now and set his expectations straight, or wait. Wait and see what mischief his human got up to.

She continued to quietly step deeper into the cave.

He could be patient, he decided. She would be around for so little time, in the grand duration of his life, that he could afford to draw this out with her. He could savor.

So he stayed exactly where he was.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Until she screamed, the sound echoing off the maze of caves and coating them in terror.