To Tame a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,65

The end could not come this soon.

“Nothing matters but you,” he continued, emotion constricting his throat. “All the years behind me are as meaningless as dust in the desert wind, and any ahead would be equally so without you beside me.”

She stirred, body trembling against him, and her warm breath fanned across his chest. “Finally free,” she murmured. “You may…finally be free…of me.”

Falthyris’s breath caught in his lungs. He could neither inhale nor exhale as agonizing pressure built in his chest. His heartfire sputtered like a fuel-starved flame, and his heart was utterly consumed by sorrow, shattering into countless shards of ice.

Had she resigned herself to that fate? Had she given up her hope? Where was the tenacity, the spirit she’d displayed before?

“No,” he rasped.

His heartfire rekindled on a fresh burst of fury. Just as Dragonsbane had sought to control Faltyhris, this blood sickness was driving his mate to despair, crushing her beneath the weight of the suffering it had inflicted upon her.

Would that Falthyris could take that weight onto himself, that he could take her pain into his body and spare her all this.

“You will stay with me, Elliya,” he growled, clasping her face between his hands. “You will not leave me. You will not give in. This is not my request or my hope, it is my command as your mate. To leave me alone would be the cruelest act, for no matter where you are, I will never be free of you. You are entwined in my soul. Your heat burns in my heartfire, and our bond pulses in every beat of my heart.”

He held her closer, and she clutched at him weakly. His throat felt suddenly raw and ragged, his breaths trailing fire through it each time they came or went, and terrible heat coursed just beneath his scales.

The circumstances of how he and Elliya had met, of how their bond had been formed, no longer mattered. He needed her in his life. There was no truth greater than that, no desire or necessity that could outweigh it.

“You must stay with me, Elliya. Please,” he begged.

Falthyris bowed his head, resting his forehead atop her hair. Her strength, already so diminished, was fading along with her resolve. Whatever he’d once believed, no matter how he’d once behaved, dragons were not gods, and Falthyris the Golden was far from all-powerful. He could not bend the world to his will, reality would not change to suit his desires.

He was small, he was helpless, and he was scared—scared for his mate’s life. He was terrified of losing her. What skills he’d developed during his long life had been focused on fulfilling his ambitions. His thousand-year-old conquest of the region had been driven by his ability to mete out death and destruction, by his mastery of intimidation and cunning use of reputation, by a honed dramatic flair that ensured his every action was worthy of legend.

But Elliya did not need a conqueror now, and her need for a defender had likewise passed. She needed a healer, a medicine man, or whatever it was the humans called them. She required someone with knowledge and skills beyond his own.

His tail lashed across the nest, rumpling the blanket and rustling the grass mats beneath. His wings shuddered and snapped firmly against his back. He knew what he had to do, and that knowledge only deepened his pain, sinking the claws of regret and sorrow deeper into his heart.

His female was in this state because he had refused to live amongst her people, because he had rejected the very notion of it without a thought, without hesitation, without compassion. And now he had to go to them. Who else could help Elliya if not her own people? Though he maintained a glimmer of hope that she would pull through on her own, he would not risk her life based upon it.

Falthyris did not know how to help her, and her tribe was the only group of which he was aware in the surrounding area. They were the only option. They were her only true hope.

His pride was a small sacrifice to make to save his Elliya’s life, and he’d make that sacrifice gladly, again and again, if that was what was necessary to protect her.

With immense care, he withdrew from her. She made a small, distressed sound and curled up on her side, folding her arms across her chest and drawing knees up. The position made her look so small, so meek—even more so than