To Tame a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,27

without ceremony and shook his hands, willing the tension out of his fingers. It wasn’t often that physical exertion caused him discomfort, but holding on to the carcass of a beast that was longer than he was tall in this form had required far more effort than he’d anticipated—not because of the added weight, but because of how large, awkward, and limp his burden had been.

As though the human’s bag repeatedly falling out of place to bump Falthyris’s arm and ribs repeatedly hadn’t been irritating enough, as though the strands of his mane constantly blowing into his eyes and mouth had not been enough of an impediment, the dead sandstone ox had swayed and flopped throughout the return to the lair. Those erratic motions had disrupted Falthyris’s already tenuous stability over and over, making this last flight the slowest and clumsiest since his change by far.

He glanced deeper into the cave. The human was partway down the tunnel, close to where he’d left her, sitting with her back to the wall. She was unmoving but for the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest denoting her breathing. Was she asleep?

Falthyris should have been sleeping. He should have been deep in his dreams until well after this human had been worn down to a grizzled husk by the harsh desert winds, until her children were grown, until—

Falthyris hissed and slapped a hand to his chest. His inner fire blazed hot enough to constrict his heart and steal the breath from his lungs. He curled his fingers, raking his claws over his scales as though he could tear out that sudden discomfort.

He knew what had caused this pain, knew what had triggered this latest flare in his heartfire—the thought of her having birthed another male’s offspring.

Have I fallen so low as to enrage myself with my own speculations of what might have been?

The answer came without delay—yes.

It didn’t matter if she was a human or a dragon, a mermaid or a damned mountain goat. She was Falthyris’s now, and his alone. He would allow no other male to so much as glance at her inappropriately. Whether he wanted her or not, this human belonged to Falthyris.

Of course, that did not mean he had to be happy about it. That didn’t mean he needed to take pride in the fact that he’d brought food home to her. That didn’t mean he had to give in to his sudden, foolish urge to recline beside his human and join her in the serenity of sleep.

He shook his head sharply and tore his gaze away from her. His wings pulled in tight against his back and his tail lashed restlessly as he bent forward to grasp the ox by its thick mane and the flesh on the back of its neck.

Body, mind, and soul—all were betraying him. But what did that leave to resist this human’s ensorcellment?

It is the Red Heat. I will have control once the comet has passed.

That should have been reassuring, but he found the notion unconvincing.

Falthyris bared his teeth and expelled a small burst of flame from his nostrils as he heaved the sandstone ox onto his shoulder. He walked deeper into the cave, staring at her during his approach. When he reached the human, he stopped in front of her and continued staring. He was barely aware of the weight on his shoulder as untold moments passed.

Her dark mane hung freely about her shoulders, tousled and shining in the bit of sunlight reaching this far into the tunnel. Her full, pink lips were relaxed, and her lush, dark lashes were fanned upon cheeks that bore a hint of rose. She sat with her chin tilted down, arms folded over her chest as though to keep her torn robe closed—but her arms must have grown lax in her slumber, for one of those mounds had escaped the confines of her clothing, its dark peak teasing him.

How had he managed to resist taking those in hand yet? They were round and smooth but for the darker circles at their peaks that hardened into little nubs, and the way they moved when she did…

Were they firm or yielding? Could they be both?

His gaze traced the patterns on her skin from the backs of her hands and up to her sleeves, both of which were drawn up to the middles of her forearms. Many of the elements comprising those markings were abstract shapes and lines, but some of them looked like flowers—like the very