To Tame a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,54

shrugged off such an affront. She would have been offended, yes, but the way she felt now was a great deal beyond that.

I made myself vulnerable to him.

Elliya kept her legs moving, and that mating bond coiled tighter and tighter, its pull toward Falthyris ever more insistent.

Why did she want him so badly, even now? He had reverted to his old, vile behavior, had spat upon her tribe, her ancestors, her species, all the way back to the first human at the dawn of time. She should have known that initial turn of his demeanor had been too good to be true. A person—a dragon—could not change overnight.

She released a frustrated huff through her nose as she reminded herself that she wasn’t just hurt—she was angry. With quick, firm movements, she used the heel of her hand to wipe the moisture from her eyes.

Why should she have to choose between her mate and her people? Both could coexist, both could benefit from each other. She wasn’t so foolish as to think it would be easy or instantaneous—not for Falthyris or the tribe—but it could be done. Again, all he needed to do was listen to what she had to say. All he had to do was trust her a little. Their bond had not begun ideally, but she had thought they’d at least developed mutual trust.

Her anger was as valid as her pain, and was as justified as Falthyris’s fury. To learn that he still saw her that way, as so far beneath him…

But he did not say that to me.

A pang of guilt struck her chest, making her stride falter. She had seen the look on his face after he’d spoken those words. She’d seen his shock, his shame. It would have been so easy to tell herself he hadn’t meant it, that it had been the result of the Heat clouding his judgment, as it had done with increasing frequency over the last several days. She could easily have told herself that his words had emerged in a flare of rage and spite, that they had no substance, no truth behind them.

But all that really mattered now was that he’d spoken them. Whether he had meant them or not, he had chosen to open his mouth and let those words out.

Elliya was allowed to be angry, upset, and whatever else she happened to feel. But she was still a huntress; she was normally calm and controlled, deliberate in her approaches to both problems and prey. She almost never cried, and she rarely lost her temper. When she chose to return to him—and she knew it wouldn’t be long—she would be composed. She would be in control of herself.

Drawing to a halt, Elliya took in a slow, shaky breath and willed the tension to ease from her body. She would take a little time to collect her thoughts, to determine the proper way to present her arguments to him, and then return to the lair, where she would emphasize the trust and respect they’d been building with one another.

And she would, in as measured a tone as she could manage, explain to him that he needed to stop acting like a spoiled child and behave instead like the mature, intelligent, experienced male she knew him to be.

That thought was just enough to make a corner of her mouth quirk up—Elliya, barely in her eighteenth year, scolding a two-thousand-year-old dragon.

The clatter of a falling rock broke her thoughts. She blinked away her lingering tears and scanned her surroundings. She was deep in the ravine now, at a point about ten paces wide with rock walls to either side that were nearly twice as tall as her. She glanced back. As big as it was, the rocky hill that housed Falthyris’s lair was out of sight from her current position.

Had she truly been so absorbed in her thoughts that she’d walked this far without noticing?

Another clattering rock caught her attention, and she snapped her head toward the sound. Her heartbeat quickened as her gaze locked with the beady eyes of a dunehound that was standing atop the ridgeline within a stone’s throw of her.

The dunehound’s head was down, its shoulders hunched, its muscles coiled as though it were ready to pounce. Its rough, leathery hide was mottled tan and brown, run through with faint cracks and pale scars. Though the creature was small and sleek—it likely wouldn’t have stood much past Elliya’s navel on its hind legs—its clawed paws were nearly