Chapter 4

Oh, the human female was shaping up to be quite a lot of fun.

First, he had found her pressed against the wall, terrified of the baby swallump Alistair had adopted a decade ago. The thing was just curious about a potential new playmate, and she had screamed in terror.

She hadn't even looked that afraid of him! It was all he could do not to double over in laughter.

Then there was the indignant way she challenged him. He had not conversed with a human in some time, but by memory, they were not so prickly! They were scared of him and fled, or on occasion bored him with a righteous speech.

They didn't banter with him. Their words didn't attempt to singe him, as though their tongues could produce fire.

Yet his human did. This pleased him.

Her form pleased him, too. It was different to see her in the eyes of his human shape. Better, even. The locks glittered like his hoard of gold in the torchlight. The perfect bow of her lips that beckoned him until it opened to attack. Her eyes, pale as ice, widened with fear and shrank with fury with such speed he couldn't help but relish in. She was small, even when he compared her to his stature in this form instead of a massive dragon. At most, she reached his shoulder, and that was generous as she was in boots. The comely shape of her hips, buried beneath layers of fabric. The large chest covered by that rag she called a frock.

He wanted to get rid of it. Either to cover her with something finer, more suitable for his female, or simply destroy it entirely.

And that was the thing that had stopped him. Had made him hesitate for a second when he reached the frightened female facing off against Morthil. Made him pause for a breath before interjecting.

He had suspected, in his dragon shape. He hadn't known it was possible, but a part of him had wondered.

But now… now that he had shifted into his own human shape.

He knew.

She was his.

The one female destiny had given him. The one that would be his match, his mirror, the single being that could withstand even his hottest flames, for she was a part of him. The one that was meant to belong to him and only him. The one that might end his unending boredom.

His twin flame.

His fated mate.

"I do not belong to you." Her eyes glinted up at him.

He hadn't been able to stop himself from going closer. He wanted to breathe in her scent. He wanted to mix it with his own.

At her words, he smiled. But it was less a warm shape and more a bearing of teeth. "I disagree. And in these caves, my word is law, female."

"I have a name, you know."

He shrugged, as though he was not suddenly desperate to learn it. "I suppose you do. But it was you who was not polite enough to introduce yourself after I did just that for myself and the swallump."

He kept his face straight even as he saw a dozen replies play on her lips. Oh, it had hardly been a slight to not introduce herself—she'd been paralyzed with fear. By a baby swallump!

But it was fun to rile her up.

"My name is Nora—Lenora," she corrected herself, "Tashe of Mossley Village."

"Lenora Tashe." He enjoyed the shape of her name on his lips, but in his own ears, all he heard was mine.

Oh, but it would not be enough to simply own her. To keep her as part of his hoard in body only. No, he would have every inch of her, every part of her. He would learn it. He would make her share it of her own volition.

Nothing less was acceptable.

Alistair did not often deal with living things he was not in the process of terrorizing or consuming. But no matter—he would call on his limited experience. Morthil would be his inspiration.

"Do you desire food, Lenora Tashe?"

The frown that quirked on her luscious lips said she would deny it for spite, before she hesitated and then thought better of it.

A reluctant nod was all the invitation he needed.

In an effort to be gallant, he extended an arm to her.

She looked at it as though it might burn her.

"Won't you put something on?" she asked, meeting his eyes with a delicious flush that crept up her neck.

He frowned at her. "Why should I? You humans wear things to keep safe from the cold; I have no such defect."

Her lips thinned into a line matched by her narrowed eyes, but she didn't argue. After a moment's internal debate, she took his extended arm.

Victory.

The first of many to come.

Truth be told, Alistair normally enjoyed wearing the fine clothes he collected in the solitude of his home.

But it was much more fun to pretend otherwise. Especially when his female couldn't help but react to him, the blush that reached all the way down to her throat beckoning him.

He knew his body was perfection, by dragon and by human standards. All he had to do was stand in front of her for a bit and no doubt she would fall into his lap.

If she would just look at him. The stubborn thing seemed determined to avoid examining him.

It would hardly do. They were fated mates, cursed and blessed to learn each other's souls, as well as their bodies.

While he guided her deeper into the caves, he stole glances at her. She was slight, in all ways compared to him, but he found he enjoyed that. He liked the delicate little thing. She would need his protection.

She would be his to keep.

She gasped when they reached what passed for his kitchen.

He didn't spend much time in his human shape, certainly not to eat, so it was not the most extensive part of his hoard. Fourteen identical golden chairs lined a long table. There were enchanted cupboards in the wall, a token from one of the magical outposts.

"Are all of those gold?"

Good. His mate should appreciate his hoard. He puffed his chest as he replied, "Indeed."

"How wasteful!"

That wiped the smile off Alistair's face.

"This could feed Mossley for centuries."

"It does not belong to Mossley," he snapped at the rebuke. "It belongs to me." As do you.

His mate would need to understand. A dragon's power came from his hoard. A dragon did not share. A dragon did not so much as like to speculate about being separated from a single coin in his hoard, let alone a furniture set.

Her gaze was full of censure, not understanding.

Fine. He would brush that aside for now.

Feed her. Creatures learned to yield to the hand that fed them.

He pulled some victuals from the shelf. Cured meats seemed the most suitable, so he prepared a plate and brought it over to the table, along with a glass of wine he had not bothered to try yet. His mate had settled at the far end, Morthil at her heels. No matter how she edged her seat away, he simply lifted his hindquarters, inched forward, and settled back down.

Eventually, she gave up the battle.

Alistair laughed as he placed the plate down in the spot next to her, where he settled in.

"You will have no success dissuading him. Once he settles his heart on something, he does not deviate." Something he found he had in common with the pup.

Lenora glanced down at the creature, who looked up at her, pleading for acceptance. She patted his head for the second time, albeit only slightly less reluctantly than before.

"Eat, Lenora."

She turned back to him and frowned at his outstretched fingers.

"You must be joking."

Alistair frowned. He'd hoped to have her take from his hand, to feel her lips against his skin. "I'm not."

"I'm not going to eat like an animal from your hand." Her horror overpowered the fear that had seeped back into her composure.

It was enough to make Alistair drop the matter, even if he was slightly disappointed.

Another time, he promised himself.

"Very well."

Her suspicion was obvious as she pulled the plate close, but hunger won out. He tossed the offending piece of meat over to Morthil, who swallowed it in one gulp.

It was enough for him to know that no matter how many barriers she erected, they were inevitable. Even if his mate was not aware of that fact quite yet.

Just the thought of her eventually yielding to his every demand sent a bolt of lust straight through him, hardening his length. At least it was hidden by the table. Not that Alistair felt any shame in his desire; no, he had cause for pride in that regard. But given his fated mate and future wife's propensity towards screaming, it was better she not see—yet.

Better to distract himself.

"Come, pet." He enjoyed the flicker of annoyance in her eyes at the term. "Converse with me. Entertain your master."

"If you call yourself my master again, I'll… I'll starve myself."

Ah, but she did not know what he did. She was his mate. He was her master, like it or not. Alistair could not contain his grin.

If she did not want to face the realities of her situation yet, so be it. He didn't want to break his new toy. He could woo with honey as easily as demand.

"Would you deny a lonely dragon the gift of your conversation?"

His female was likely stubborn enough to keep silent for spite, but when he preyed on her kinder nature?

"I'm surprised you have food for… people," Nora eventually relented.

"In fact, I keep it only for Morthil. This would hardly satisfy me."

"Great. I'm eating cat food. Or your equivalent of it."

"Swallumps do have discerning palates."

"That makes me feel so much better." Her droll tone pleased him. He would not do well with a female that lacked a sharp wit. "So what do you sate your hunger with then? Livestock?"

"I wouldn't say I'm often sated."

She blushed, turning her cheeks a bright pink. Oh, he enjoyed the heat on her cheeks. He wanted to press his own hand against it, but the feisty thing might nip his fingers.

Perhaps all the more reason…

"Do you eat… people?" she asked quickly.

"I'm certainly capable of it." She shrank, but held his gaze. "But I would not choose to unless I had need. I'm partial to mutton, personally. Humans are far too stringy for my taste."

When she did not look relieved, he added, "That was a joke, Lenora."

It was not a joke, but she relaxed nonetheless.

"Tell me, pretty one, how did you come to be so lucky as to be chosen for me?"

Her blush grew from pink to scarlet. At this, her gaze did fall away. Not fear. Embarrassment.

The thought of being gobbled whole by him was less worrisome to her than admitting how she had come to be in the situation.

Oh, Alistair had to know now. "Come now, Lenora. It cannot be so awful. Even if you robbed a priest or killed a man, it would hardly register to me."

"I'm not a criminal!" Offended, she forgot her embarrassment and those bright blue eyes found him for a beat before she looked away. "You could say it was not anything I did, but what I didn't do."

He waited for her to go on.

"There's a woman in our village. She calls herself a seer, though we all think she's batty. But this time, for some reason, they took her seriously. I think my stepmother was just glad to be rid of me when I fit the conditions. One less mouth to feed, after all. The farm hasn't produced much, especially not since the floods last season."

"And what condition was this?" he prodded when she said no more. They were fools to part with her. Fools, or desperate, because anyone could see what a jewel the female was. Not just her looks, which could have been lifted from any one of the portraits of beautiful goddesses he kept in his hoard. But for everything else about her—her wit, her kindness, her courage.

"I… I am untouched. And the seer said such a sacrifice would be worth more than the prearranged fifteen sheep."

She did not meet his gaze, and he found that intolerable. He tilted her head towards him with one black claw.

"The seer had a point. I'm a dragon, after all. It's not in my nature to share. Though I imagine I would be pleased with you regardless, so long as you know no male shall touch you ever again."

Her flush grew. She lifted the glass of wine for cover. "They thought you were going to eat me."

"Oh, I plan to," he said. "I intend to feast on your body, Lenora, just not the way your village expected."

She looked at him for a moment, as if confused. Then, the meaning slamming into her, she jerked back in her seat and dropped her goblet, splashing bright wine all over her dirty frock.

"Oh, blight!" His female turned her attention to the ruined frock, and he allowed the distraction. "I guess the downside of not being eaten is I didn't bring any supplies of my own."

Fear not,Alistair thought. I will see you in clothes far finer than you could imagine.

But first…

"I believe, then, it's time for you to bathe."