“Milord?” She spoke cautiously, still wondering how he had entered her bedchamber without making a sound. She hadn’t heard the telltale creaking of the large iron doorknob, nor had she heard the panel settling back into the frame—and the realization unnerved her. Dante was far too predatory for her liking.
“Mina.” Her name was a mere whisper of breath on his tongue.
She unwittingly clutched the towel, bunching it up in her fist as she pressed it closer to her racing heart. “How did you—”
“Shh.” His eyes grew dark with subtle reflections of mystery, and then he took a graceful step forward, his movement as subtle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. “Come to me, Ahavi.” His iron chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths.
Mina bowed her head and forced an uncomfortable curtsy: By all the Spirit Keepers, she was trying to be obedient. “Of course.” She took a bold step in his direction and then halted. “Just give me a second to get dressed.” Her eyes darted across the room to the enormous four-poster bed and the pale linen nightgown laid out so neatly on top of it. “I’ll only be a moment.” She tried to shuffle forward without meeting his gaze, hoping he would allow her this small indulgence.
A harsh, guttural growl brought her up short. “I said, come to me,” he repeated, his voice like an icy wind.
Mina froze in place.
She got it.
She did.
The prince expected nothing less than immediate submission and absolute obedience from his servants, and she was no exception. Although she had no desire to oppose him, it was just so hard to jump at the snap of his fingers. And right now, she would have given her right arm to be properly dressed, to not feel so incredibly vulnerable. She linked her hands behind her back in an act of submission and peeked at him through mollified lashes. “My prince, I only wish to—”
“Silence.” He shot her a clear, unmistakable warning with his eyes. “Not another word.”
Mina stood motionless, awaiting his next command. She couldn’t help but notice that the flames in the nearby hearth were flickering wildly in response to the dragon’s rising ire; the crescents were swaying to and fro as if tossed about in a turbulent wind; and the macabre reflection cast a haunting red shadow against the bedchamber wall, almost as if it were decreeing a warning: Now is not the time to defy or incite the beast.
Mina contracted her diaphragm as she breathed, still trying to calm her nerves.
Surely, Dante understood the rules…
He had to know that there were boundaries governing the five-month introductory period when the king’s sons selected their preferred Ahavi, lines that could not be crossed, principles that must be honored. Surely, Dante understood that the princes were not to bed their potential consorts before the Final Choosing, not a day before the Autumn Mating. It was strictly forbidden for so many reasons: Not only was it seen as distasteful and assuming, but to do so was akin to playing a dangerous game of chance, taking a perilous and unnecessary risk, flirting with imminent disaster.
Dragons were territorial by nature.
One male could not have carnal knowledge of his brother’s wife, nor could he risk impregnating the wrong consort—who’s to say he would not be devious enough to slip her the fertility elixir? Should a Sklavos Ahavi end up carrying the wrong prince’s child, her rightful master would be inclined, if not driven, to destroy the illegitimate offspring, to murder his nephew in an act of dominance and territorialism. No, carnal relations were forbidden during the preliminary months. Unfortunately, they were about all that was forbidden.
Trusting what she had been taught at the Keep, Mina forced herself to meet Dante’s intimidating stare head-on. She gathered her courage and took another step forward, moving clearly in his direction.
It must have been too little, too late.
His eyes flashed amber in response to what he clearly perceived as an unhurried pace, and then they turned even darker still—heavy, shadowed, and disapproving—as he used the power of his mind to wrest her forward more quickly.
Drawn by the dragon’s power, Mina took five quick, orchestrated steps toward Dante, shuffling mindlessly like a marionette on a puppeteer’s strings, until she finally stood before him, her toes nearly touching his. It was the same thing he had done that first day in the courtyard, and she felt utterly frustrated by the all-too-familiar situation.
It wasn’t as if she couldn’t learn.
Quite the contrary, really. She got it. She was just having trouble with the immediate part of obedience.
Holding her breath, she practically cowered before him.
“Why do you insist upon trying my patience, Mina?”
She sighed, feeling like she just couldn’t win, knowing there was no acceptable reply. After all, what could she say? Dante had no idea what this was like for her, what it was like for a mortal to stand in a dragon’s presence. And why would he? How could he? To him, her lame attempts at compliance were measly at best. To her, they were Herculean feats of bravery. She held her tongue, hoping to appease him with silence.
He stared at her exposed shoulders, unconsciously licking his full bottom lip while revealing the slightest hint of fangs, his mouth turning down in a scowl. “Ah, I see…silence.”
Mina trembled as he openly appraised her from head to toe, as if doing so was his gods-given right, and truth be told, it probably was.
“Turn around,” he commanded, subtly inclining his head.
Mina froze. Her heart began to race in her chest, and she instinctively clutched the towel above her breasts. She wanted to obey so badly it hurt, but his request was just so terrifying. Surely, Dante would not force himself upon a Sklavos Ahavi like a drunken commoner with a tawdry barmaid. Surely, he would not take a virgin in such a barbaric manner.
Dearest Ancestors, be merciful!
“W…why… milord?” she asked sheepishly.
Dante’s perfect brows creased in frustration, framing his harshly beautiful face like an angry crown as he waited for her compliance. “Have I not warned you, dear Mina, about questioning your lord?” He lowered his voice and whispered, “About challenging the beast?” His eyes fixed on the towel, the way she was holding it just above her breasts with white-knuckled fingers, and his voice practically vibrated with heat. “Do you really want to challenge the dragon’s dominant instincts now—in your present state of undress?”
Mina shivered. She drew in a deep breath and slowly turned around, clutching the towel even tighter, if that was possible. She could hear his breathing—it was shallow behind her—and the feel of his warm breath pulsated against her ears.
“Better,” he said. And then he spoke so quietly, she had to strain to hear him. “At the Keep, you were schooled in all the ways of the dragon, were you not? You were taught when and how to submit?”
“Y…y…yes, milord,” she whispered.
“Good. Then you understand our various appetites?”
Mina no longer just shivered. She literally quaked where she stood, her slender knees knocking together. She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She was terrified, beyond humiliated, and utterly speechless.
Dante reached out to touch her, although whether or not he meant to comfort her or threaten her, she had no idea. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair in a chilling caress, stopping to twirl several damp tendrils between his thumb and forefinger before letting them drop to her shoulders. And then he swept the lot of her hair away from her neck, placing it gently over the left side so that her right shoulder stood completely bare.
Her skin tingled beneath his ministrations. Her neck felt overly sensitive and unnaturally exposed, yet there she stood, frozen like a statue, submitting as a good Ahavi should.
Lowering his head to whisper in her ear, he said, “I am weary, Mina. Tired and famished. My dragon wishes to reanimate his fire.”
Mina blinked back tears and bit her bottom lip. She didn’t dare utter a word. She couldn’t if she tried. A dragon’s
fire-lust was all-consuming once it began to burn. She knew this. All the Ahavi knew this. And if she tried to extinguish it now, she would only make matters worse, perhaps succeed at inciting another need altogether, a much more primitive, carnal hunger. She tried to brace herself for what was coming next, but her legs felt weak beneath her, and she had to take a quick shuttle-step to the side to keep from losing her balance.
Dante stiffened and stood up straight. Whether or not he had taken her silence as an affront, she didn’t know. Whether or not he was feeding on her fear, she didn’t want to know. She purposefully let her shoulders drop, just as they had been taught to do at the Keep, and then, in order to relax, to ease her rigid posture, she began to count her breaths, one after the other, silently in her mind. She paid careful attention to her diaphragm. She focused on the way her chest rose and fell. She visualized the air moving in and out of her body as a golden ray of light, and she concentrated on circulating it in smooth, even waves. She did everything she had been taught over the last six years. Relax. Let yourself go. Drift away in your mind.
Just breathe.
“Good girl,” Dante whispered, and he genuinely seemed to approve. He encircled her shoulders with his powerful arms and lightly fingered the top of the towel. “Let go,” he commanded.
Mina swallowed hard and tried to comply, but her hands would not obey.
He gently pried her fingers loose from the fabric. “Do not fight me, Mina,” he warned as the thin towel began to slide down her waist.
Mina gasped as the towel fell to the ground and her body was instantly bared in the firelight, exposed to the dragon’s gaze. Dante drew in a harsh intake of breath, and she clenched her eyes shut, trying to recall her training, struggling to remember her duty, endeavoring to return to the rhythm of her breathing.
When he took a step back, moving several inches away, she nearly collapsed with relief, but then he placed both of his hands on her shoulders and began to slowly massage her muscles. It was almost as if he were a potter and she were a lump of clay as he kneaded her arms, slowly ran his palms down her biceps to her elbows, and then gently traced the outline of her forearms to the junction of her wrists. He lifted his hands and repositioned them at her waist, measuring her slender midriff with ten splayed fingers, cupping her belly with his outstretched hands. When his palms brushed over the curves of her hips and his thumbs slid absently over her buttocks, she panted in near desperation, trying to dispel her fear.
He knelt behind her, and Mina’s eyes grew wide.
Dear goddess of mercy, she was naked!
What was he about to do?
Her eyes flitted across the room as she desperately searched for a focal point, an object to fix her attention upon. She quickly settled on a brass oil lamp, situated next to a tattered tome on the fireplace mantel, and she could practically hear the governess at the Keep whispering in her ear: When you’re standing before him, and he is touching you; when the pain is too intense, or the degradation is too severe; when the demands he makes of your body feel too extreme, like you cannot comply, find a focal point or an object across the room and place your full attention upon it. Study it. Memorize it. Name its various parts in meticulous order. Count down the seconds, the minutes, or the hour; and do it in measurable increments.
Mina studied the lantern and began to recite the various components in her head: Burner. Wick. Collar. Chimney. Shade—
And then Dante reached out to grasp her ankles, and she almost jumped in place. For the love of the Spirit Keepers, what would have happened if she had kicked him?
She swallowed her anxiety and stood as still as she could as he repeated the earlier process, only this time, performing the ministrations on her legs. He slowly ran his hands up the backs of her calves, massaging her muscles as he moved along, and then he rotated his thumbs over the backs of her knees and slid his palms along the outside of her thighs.
Mina cringed when Dante’s seeking fingers came to rest at the crease of her rounded bottom, their progress all at once impeded by the soft, circular globes. His proximity to her most intimate region was far too close for comfort. She had never felt more exposed—or humiliated—in her entire life. When at last she couldn’t stand another moment, she slapped at his wrists. “Prince Dante!” Catching herself, she immediately withdrew her hands and softened her voice. “I mean, milord…what are you doing?”
Ignoring her disobedience, Dante chuckled low in his throat, the tenor a raspy, masculine sound. “I am measuring your heat, sweet Mina. I am checking for any blockages that may have gone undetected at the Keep, trying to discern how much of your essence I can take without doing you irreparable harm.”
How much of her essence he could take without doing her irreparable harm?
Oh gods…
She trembled.
“I must say,” he added softly, “it is hard not to become…distracted.” He purred low in his throat and then groaned. “By all that is sacred, my Ahavi, you are more beautiful than I imagined.” He placed a soft kiss on her derriere, and then he rose to his feet in one smooth, agile motion. He lightly trailed the backs of his fingers up, along her spine and across her trapezius muscles, and then he placed each hand on one of her shoulders and whispered in her ear. “Lean back against my chest, Ahavi, so you don’t grow faint.”
“Milord, please…I…I’m not ready.”
“You will do as you are bid, sweet Mina.” Before she could reply or refuse him, he tugged her back against him, swirled his tongue lightly over the area where the bend of her neck met her shoulder, and then swiftly made a seal over the moist circle with his mouth.
Mina felt the slow drag of fangs where his cool tongue and warm breath had just been, and she tensed, sending a silent prayer up to the Spirit Keepers for strength.
Shh, Dante whispered in her mind. And then he released his fangs and sank them deep into her flesh, taking the barest sip of blood in his first primal pull.
Mina jolted from the pain, and then she whimpered from the helplessness, clutching at his hands for support. He held her more tightly against him, locking her body to his in an iron hold, even as he continued to feed from her essence, no longer taking her blood. Although the pain began to subside, she still didn’t want this. She just wasn’t ready to serve him this soon.
But what choice did she have?
She was an Ahavi, a female sworn to serve the dragon, to feed his fire at his behest; and moreover, she was Dante’s Sklavos Ahavi, or she would be soon, the moment the king decreed it—and that meant Dante’s every wish was to be her command. It was simply the way of the Realm.
It had always been the way of the Realm.
And Mina thought she had been prepared for the inevitability of her duty, for this defenseless, subservient moment, until she began to feel the warmth seeping out of her body, the very nucleus of her soul draining from her flesh. Until the dragon continued to feed his fire with her heat, and her life force began to dissipate.
Inexpressible chills traveled along Mina’s spine as her body temperature dropped rapidly and her energy waned. Frosty sensations, like fingers gloved in shards of ice, played along her skin—grasping, probing, taking—even as her muscles grew weak and her skin turned blue. She shivered and moaned.
Yet and still, Dante fed.
When at last he withdrew his fangs, she felt as if she might collapse from exhaustion, as if any moment now, she would draw one last shallow breath and just let go, pass on to the netherworld, drained from the core. She felt as if her body no longer contained the essence it needed to maintain life, as if her soul was no longer separate from his.
As if Dante had taken it all.
The dragon had drained her completely.
Dante sealed the puncture wounds with a rasp of his tongue, and then he began to blow a steady stream of fire over the raw, inflamed skin. She knew it was blue fire—or at least she hoped it was—because that was the healing color they were taught to expect at the Keep, the only fire that c
ame from a dragon which gave life instead of taking it. Well that and silver, which was used to bestow immortality.
As the mystical flames licked at her skin, causing a dull, radiating pain to throb in her neck, she felt her body temperature begin to rise almost as rapidly as it had fallen. The strength in her muscles returned, and she became instantly reanimated. She was suddenly infused with amazing strength, robust health, and renewed vitality; and somehow, she knew she was stronger than before. Dante had sealed the wound with a powerful, healing fire.
And then he knelt behind her again.
Only this time, he picked up the towel; ran it along her smooth, delicate skin; and stood back up, reaching around to tuck the front into a loosely folded knot, just above her breasts. He was careful not to touch her indecently, or perhaps he just wasn’t inclined to do so. Either way, he tucked in the towel and released it. “You did well, Ahavi.” His voice was a silken purr in her ear, and she shivered at the unfamiliar vibration of his approval.
As tears of relief rolled down her cheek, she bowed her head in response. She felt open, exposed, and incredibly vulnerable, but not altogether despondent. “Then you are pleased?” she asked, not at all sure why it mattered, other than the fact that she hoped to continue living, even if this was to be her lot in life.
“Your essence, your heat, is like sunshine on a cloudy day. It is so much easier when you submit, is it not?” He placed a sweltering kiss on her bare shoulder. “I cannot help but wonder what all of you will feel like when the time comes.”
Mina couldn’t restrain her reaction. She spun around to face him, unwittingly taking several steps back. “Please, milord.” She held up both hands to keep him at bay and then immediately thought better of it—Mina did not want to anger the dragon, but goddess have mercy, there was only so much she could take in one day. And this, the idea of submitting her body to Dante completely, it was just too much to deal with, far too much to take in. Dante’s certain ownership, his proud possession, his proprietary ways were more than enough for Mina to contend with. “I don’t wish to defy you,” she said respectfully, “but you are terrifying me, milord. And I can hardly bear it another moment.” Her white-knuckled grip on the towel turned blue, and she glanced anxiously around the room, searching for a place to retreat.