To Wake a Dragon - Naomi Lucas Page 0,14

know much about humans, as I do all enemies of my kind, but it has been a long time, and I never sought to gain knowledge from those of my dragon kin who have bonded to humans.

Anticipation builds as the shuffling noises stop.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if this human is only here because she is trapped here, like I am. Is she here for me or because she has no other choice?

Why do I care?

Her scent thickens, and I am overwhelmed. Gone are the flowers and sweat. They have been replaced by sweet, mesmerizing ambrosia. The inferno in my body explodes, sizzling every fiber. I want to bathe in it, bask in her sweet scent, find the spot where it is coming from and bury my snout… nose?… into it. My mouth waters to bring that smell to my tongue so I may taste and drink it down.

She is in heat. She must be. My shaft grows harder. All I want to do is squeeze and pump it in my hand.

If I did not think I was cursed before…

There is movement beside me. Something touches my skin. I quiet my groaning as my need detonates. The female gasps, and her warm touch stills. It is her fingers, I realize, up against my side. They are on me. The female is touching me. Awe clouds my mind.

“Are…are you okay?” she asks hesitantly and—and I understand her! Her words make sense. I spoke her language in fury when I transformed. Human. The entirety of her words and meaning are clear to me.

I try to answer, but my lips do not move. My tongue remains stiff.

I try to speak again. Nothing. My frustration builds. I wait for her to do something more, to please my ears with the sound of her voice, but she does not.

She waits for my response.

Skies!

I am at her mercy, at the mercy of everything in this world. She could easily leave, or kill me—anything could happen at this point. I need her to survive. I have never needed another being after my mother and sire reared me. Part of me wants to lash out, to bellow at this sudden weakness.

Worse yet, her hands have not moved. The spots where they lie are now burning me with the contact. I want them to move, need them to move. It is agony, not being able to take what I want, to force her into action. I moan as compellment.

“Dragon man?” she says with frustrating hesitancy.

Dragon man? I scoff. So she knows of the dragon’s bane. She knows what she has turned me into. A small bit of anger needles me. But her voice is melodious and strong, and takes away my anger.

If this female can brave the wilds and survive, she must be strong. Why do I care what she calls me?

Her hands shift on my skin, and all other cares vanish. They move from my side to slide onto my belly, warm and curious. They do not linger but move up and over my chest, testing every inch of my exposed flesh. They press lightly into me as if they are exploring something new… or checking for wounds. As they move, I try to strain my muscles beneath them, testing them for the same reasons.

There is no pain. Not anymore. Not except for my throbbing shaft.

And like warm, soothing feathers, the female’s fingers continue up and down my arms, doing the same as they did with my chest. I learn my new form from her and find that I am fit and built. I also discover that not all of my scales are gone, as there are places her warmth fades and my body is rigid and not surrendering to her prodding.

My mind reels from sensation. The last creature to touch me did so in hopes to kill me. This is different, unexpected.

Even enjoyable.

The female’s hands are soft, yet wary, like she does not want to hurt me. They end up on my face, where they explore my features. Her fingers trace my jaw, my lips—which causes my shaft to twitch—and up my human nose. They whisper across my cheeks to trace around my eyes, but stop when they reach my brow.

My dark jewel.

I still have it?

Pride and relief infuse me. Dark dragons, since they are not born of natural elements, create a central piece to draw strength from. My jewel formed when I was a young dragonling, starving for darkness to