Chapter 5

The dragon seemed to delight in Lenora's misfortune and wasted no time shepherding her deeper into the caves.

She searched for any discarded scales from the corner of her eye as they walked through the winding path, but her thoughts were clouded by his words. Oh, he seemed to delight in taunting her.

And the last thing Alistair had said, which had caused her to spill the wine she'd been sipping for relief—she found herself quite parched in the dragon's presence! Oh, it had taken her a moment. To realize he was not threatening to devour her like livestock, but in another way altogether.

The path grew darker and darker, the torches unlit. She was focused on clinging to him for guidance, lest she stumble on the uneven pathway he had no trouble with.

Worse, he remained nude, without a speck of shame. Perhaps he saw himself as nothing but a beast, rendering clothes useless.

But he wore the shape of a man. A very large man… in every regard. And it did nothing to ease her mind.

The only respite was the beast, Morthil, had not followed them further.

"Here we are."

They were in a space no less black than it had been a moment before.

"Are you not pleased?" Alistair asked when she was silent. If she was a buffoon, she might have thought he sounded almost hurt that she did not like it.

"Alistair, I cannot see."

"Ah!" A breath later, the room was lit in the low yellows of flame. "I like hearing you say my name. Do it more," he commanded.

She rolled her eyes. He was a vain creature, no doubt, but if she wanted to survive long enough to enact her plan, she'd best humor him.

"Alistair, it's the grandest thing I've ever seen." And this was no exaggeration.

There was a pool of water, carved from crystal, buried in the ground. The torch flames bounced off the stone, revealing the shape, which was maybe the size of a small animal enclosure in the village. Clear water reflected back the light. It went all the way until a far cave wall, which was inlaid with shelves full of crystalline bottles that belonged to the sort far too wealthy to ever even visit Mossley.

"Good. Get in it."

Lenora startled and faced him. "Surely you would leave me to bathe in privacy."

The smirk that teased at his lips was nothing less than roguish. "Surely I would not."

"It's improper!"

But Alistair only laughed. Dragons, obviously, had no idea of the rules of propriety.

"You came here prepared to die, and yet the idea of bathing while I'm here is too much?"

"Yes," she hissed.

"Come now, surely turnabout is fair play." He gestured to himself.

"If it was up to me, you would be clothed, not walking around like an animal who knows no better," she snapped. It was very hard not to look down at that moment.

"You don't like what you see?"

She flushed. The issue was she very much did, more than she'd liked anything or anyone ever before. And the grin on the beast's face said he guessed as much.

"Very well, I shall leave." His voice was soft, conciliatory. "Though, of course, you won't fault Morthil if he decides to hop in alongside you. If I'm not here to stop him, well, he can hardly be expected to know better."

She had petted the creature. Twice. And it reminded her of that old barn cat. It was probably even harmless.

But the idea of it jumping in while she was vulnerable… she shivered. "Fine. Suit yourself."

The unbidden glee on Alistair's face said he'd expected no less from her answer.

"Will you at least turn around?" she asked, exasperated.

Alistair complied without a word. She quickly shucked off her clothes and set them at the very edge of the pool and moved into the water, turning away from the dragon so she would not be distracted while she bathed.

He had a very distracting backside.

It was a bit chilly, but Lenora hadn't had the luxury of a full bath in some years, so she decided to be grateful for it. She unwound her hair from the plaits atop her head and tried to adjust to the temperature.

Until there was another plop in the water.

He didn't…

But when she turned around, startled, there was Alistair.

She opened her mouth to chide him, to argue, to tell him it was absolutely improper for him to be in there with her and to shriek and anything else that might keep him away from her while she stood up to her shoulders in crystal-clear water when the most marvelous thing happened.

The water grew warm.

Not just lukewarm. No, the temperature rose and rose until it was very nearly hot.

It was the most glorious thing Lenora had ever experienced. In Mossley, she only got the used water after her stepmother finished, as it was too much work to haul enough for two. Bathing was always a tepid, brisk affair. Functional. As far as her stepmother went, those tepid baths were a kindness compared to the rest of her treatment.

But this?

This was pleasure.

A moan escaped her lips before she could call it back.

Alistair's gaze had fixed on her with a mischievous grin, but at the sound, it turned predatory. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a step through the water towards her.

She moved back.

He moved forward.

Back.

Forward.

A dance until her back was pressed against the crystalline wall. He reached for her. Fear and anticipation twirled in her belly. She couldn't stop him, couldn't force this powerful male to stay his hand.

But instead of grabbing her, he reached past her head, pulled something from the shelf, and handed her a bottle.

She blinked at it for a moment, then, with tentative hands, accepted it. The graze of flesh was electric. Was this some dragon magic, wanting him so much?

Inside the glass container was bathing oil, perfumed in a lovely way that made Lenora want to sigh. Nothing like the scents she'd been accustomed to on the farm, of manure and dirt that clung to her even after she washed.

"I… I can't."

"Use another if that one isn't to your liking," Alistair instructed. "Use them all."

"Something like this is too fine for me," she protested.

"Nothing is too fine for you," he replied in a gravelly voice.

Lenora shivered despite the warm water. "Aren't dragons supposed to jealously guard their treasure?"

He moved closer, caging her in with his arms on either side. There was enough space between them that they did not touch. And not a thread's breadth more.

"You are my treasure." The words were powerful, daring her to argue. "You're my pet after all."

She hated it when he called her a pet.

But when he did it in that tone, low, sensual… blight take her if she didn't feel the words deep in her center.

"You should clean me with it first if you have such an issue." The gleam in his eye said he expected her to fluster as she constantly did around him.

"Fine."

For the first time since she'd met him, Alistair was the one to startle, his eyes flaring in surprise at her quick agreement.

But she agreed for two reasons. First of all, if she cleaned him, his back would be towards her and she could escape that mesmerizing gray gaze.

And second—and it should've mattered less, yet it had been the true reason she agreed—being an innocent had gotten her into this mess, after all. And while she would certainly never actually lie with the beast, especially not spread for him to feast as he'd implied, she was curious. No one would ever know.

Either because when she triumphed and returned to the village a hero, she would never tell. Or, in all likelihood, if she failed to kill him, he would slaughter her in turn and it would not matter.

And hadn't she vowed to herself, for just that reason, that she would not fear him?

This should be no different.

She poured the oil between her hands and slowly, gently, laid a palm on his back.

When the world did not explode into flames on the spot, she began to move across his shoulder, feeling the corded muscles beneath her fingers. She poured more oil and set the bottle down, moving both hands to massage and clean him.

Slowly she grew bolder. He didn't push for more than she would give; he didn't shirk from her touch.

She moved from his shoulders, down his back. He turned for her to touch his front. Her breath hitched at the look in his eyes. They were almost entirely black, so dark she couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began.

Her fingers drifted across his chest while she held his gaze. When they stumbled over a nipple, Alistair groaned, breaking the spell of silence, his eyes briefly closing at the sensation.

Nora had never heard such an erotic sound. Her fingers stilled, and when his eyes reopened, there was a command there.

But somehow the sound had broken the spell. She still wanted to touch him, but it was too much.

"There's more of me to clean." His voice was little more than a whisper, but the sound could not be described as soft.

She huffed and pulled her hands away. "I shall go no lower."

That would infuriate the dragon, no doubt. The beast who was never told no. She was defenseless against him, but she took her stand all the same, bracing for his fury.

But as ever, Alistair didn't react with any of the brutishness she expected. He simply grinned in a way that told her she had played into the palm of his hand, yet again.

"Then it's my turn."

Her breath caught, the words sending a jolt that made her feel even more vulnerable than the nudity.

But Alistair didn't move for her. Instead, despite his confident words, the silent question hung in his eyes.

Would she allow this?

It had been one thing to touch him. It was another to be touched, to give him that power over her.

But there was no one here to see, no one to ever know and shame her.

She plucked an oil from the shelf, handed it to him on shaky fingers, and turned around. Then, to convince him as much as herself that she was ready for this, she brushed her long locks from her neck and exposed her back to him so he could begin.

No touch came.

Confused, Nora turned back to face the dragon.

If she thought his eyes before smoldered with desire, now it was gone, replaced with fury.

On instinct, she tried to move back, but his hands snapped out, clawed fingertips digging into her shoulder as he held her in place.

"Who did this to you?"