To Tame a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,59

that human form and back again already. The ability to do so again was somewhere within him.

Gently, he nuzzled her shoulder with his snout before backing away from her. His heartfire blazed, and he turned his focus toward it, knowing the key lay within that ancient flame and the mating bond now woven into it. The first hints of that fiery pain coursed just beneath his scales.

He felt her eyes upon him, and he met her gaze again, letting himself see her—all of her. Her beauty, her strength, her fragility, her pain, her joy, everything. It was astonishing how quickly she’d come to mean the world to him. He had never imagined himself willingly facing even the slightest inconvenience for a mortal’s sake in the past, but he knew now that he would endure any suffering for her.

Whatever form will best serve my mate is the form I must take. That is my natural form.

In his mind’s eye, he sank his talons into his heartfire and tore it open.

Falthyris welcomed the agony as his inner fire swelled. Flames pushed through his scales, building to consume his body, blinding him with pain and light. He gritted his teeth and held still despite that pain; he would not risk his mate by thrashing about.

The change came more swiftly this time, and his awareness of it seemed to be magnified. He felt his old body burn away and crumble to ash, felt the fires coalesce to create his human form, felt the world grow around him. But that mating bond kept him grounded. It remained his tether to the present, his tether to her.

He was on hands and knees when the flames finally went out, and he released a ragged breath that made the smoke surrounding him swirl. Echoes of pain pulsed across his scales and through his bones. He shoved himself onto his feet, pumping his wings to dissipate the smoke, and hurried back to his mate.

As soon as he was near, she cradled his jaw and pressed her lips to his in a desperate kiss. He reached up and grasped her head, his claws tangling in her hair. Thrilling tingles raced outward from those points of contact, and the Red Heat stroked along his spine, rousing his loins. After all that had transpired, he’d have loved to stay like this, kissing her, touching her, loving her, making up for the harsh words he’d spoken. But now was not the time.

Falthyris broke the kiss far too soon and called upon all his willpower to thrust his desire aside. Keeping his hands on her head, he met her gaze. “We need to tend your wounds, Elliya.”

She nodded and lowered her hand. “Grab my bag.”

He nearly hesitated, nearly placed a tender kiss on her forehead, but he did not allow himself to tarry. He rose and strode to her bag, which sat a few paces away, snatched it up, and returned to her in a single bound.

Elliya opened the bag and dug inside, removing her waterskin, a small clay jar covered with a piece of hide, and a stone spearhead. Though her hands were unsteady, her voice was even as she instructed him to rinse the wounds with the water. Each time he did so, she flinched and hissed through her teeth, and he felt a stab in his heart for causing her more pain.

Many of her cuts were shallow, but the bite wound on her arm was slightly more severe, and the ravaged flesh of her calf was still bleeding freely. She cried out when he poured water over the latter wounds, squeezing fistfuls of the blanket hard enough to make her knuckles white. Even with the blood washed away, the flesh around the bite marks was already red and inflamed.

Falthyris had to swallow down the useless urge to kill those beasts again. One death had not been retribution enough.

Picking up the spearhead, Elliya held it out to him. “Heat this. It must be hot enough to burn my flesh. You will need to do this for the bite wounds, and try to damage as little healthy flesh as possible. When you are done”—she pushed the clay jar toward him—“apply this.”

He took the cold shard of sharpened stone between his fingers and dropped it onto his palm. He knew that if he stopped to consider what he was about to do—what it was going to make her feel—his resolve would waver. Even his arrogance could not shield him from that absurd truth. The