In a Dragon’s Dream by Riley Storm Page 0,62
one hand to rub her face. “Just tell me you have feelings for me. That’s okay for now.”
Laura sighed. “You know I do. I care for you too Rak.”
He smiled, seeming content at that, though Laura knew he wasn’t. Not really at least. He wanted to hear her say that she loved him too.
I do care for you. I have feelings. Strong feelings Rak.
But love?
It was just too fast still!
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rakell
The stone walls were cooler this deep into the mountain. The air was dry and stale. No sound could be heard other than his bootfalls on the pure, smooth stone floor. Carved not by human hands, or tools, but by the focused effort of an earth dragon, melting the very stone itself, shaping it into the passageway.
He arrived at a set of stairs, made in much the same fashion, and took them down, and down, a long spiraling descent. A pair of thick metal doors greeted him. These weren’t for security, or protection.
They were sound barriers.
Rakell pushed them open, using a modicum more force than usual. These doors were solid steel, four inches thick, and the hinges were resistant. No human could open them. He waited until they closed behind him, a perfect, near seamless fit.
Then he opened the second set. Almost immediately he was assaulted by heat and sound. The air grew hotter, humid.
Rakell was at home.
“Just kill me, please!” a voice was pleading.
This was the darker part of the dragon world, one that he did not wish to share with Laura. If she asked, he would tell her about these chambers, buried deep in the heart of Mount Teres, but if she did not ask, then they would remain concealed from her.
Some things she need not be burdened with.
His side itched. Glancing down at the bandage, Rakell resisted the urge to tear it off. Laura had put it there, with tender care, feeling driven to look after him post love-making.
Well, post-sex. Until, and unless, she believes that she is in love with me as well, it will never be lovemaking.
Rakell was still holding out hope she would come to that conclusion, instead of the other one. That option, where she decided she didn’t love him, would quite possibly destroy Rakell.
He preferred not to dwell on it.
“Who was at the cabin with you?” a voice snarled. “Tell us!”
Rounding a corner, he paused, looking upon the tableau in front of him.
Their prisoner, name unknown, was strapped spread-eagle to a metal frame. Thick loops of steel secured him in place at frequent intervals from the shoulder down on the right side. Where his left arm should be was an empty socket.
His legs, likewise, were held down, the closeness of each strap preventing him from using his dragon strength to break through.
Off to the left, a pool of magma bubbled and chortled as it did its own thing. The source of the heat in the chamber, it was already forcing sweat to bead on Rakell’s forehead.
He inhaled deep, breathing in the heat, letting it infuse his body.
“Is he talking yet?” he asked Pierce, who was standing in front of the Cado, interrogating him.
“No, not yet.”
“I see.” Rakell pondered that.
It bothered him that this Cado seemed so eager to die. That he was seeking out death, instead of the alternative, which was living.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked gently, turning to face the hapless shifter.
Rakell noted the prisoner’s right leg hung awkwardly. His hamstring must not have healed properly. Perhaps he was low on energy, his body couldn’t repair itself? He made a note of that, not wanting to accidentally kill their prisoner with what would normally be a non-fatal wound.
“What? What do you mean?” the shifter said, eyes panicked as he looked between Pierce and Rakell.
“What are you afraid of? What’s waiting for you out there?” Rakell purred, sensing he was on the right topic now. “Why would you rather die, than go back?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the Cado shouted, thrashing in his restraints.
“Liar,” Rakell said.
He’d seen the truth in the shifter’s eyes. Something out there scared him worse than death. What could it be?
“Coward,” he said, preying on a shifter’s most hated words. “Traitor.”
“You don’t know what it’s like!” the shifter shouted.
Rakell kept his face from displaying any emotions. This was interesting. He’d expected resistance, hatred, anger, all the usual lashing-out tactics of a captured Cado. They weren’t trained soldiers, they didn’t know how to handle this sort of thing. They were, at best, elevated street thugs.
“Why