The Dragon's Slave

Chapter 3

I studied the dust motes floating lazily across the sunbeam that cut through the dimmed interior like a sharp blade. Every few moments one would change direction, swirling wildly away from its counterparts, against the tide.

That was me, all my carefully thought out plans continued on their path, But I was that dust mote, turning in circles and floating in the wrong direction.

I kept my eyes lowered, submissive, but I couldn't resist peering upward through my lashes, hoping to gauge Firestriker and his actions. My gaze traveled up his stubbled, square jaw and cheekbones, straight to his...

I choked on my next breath. Six Gods help me but his eyes glowed. Or at least they appeared to. They were most definitely brighter than they should be back in the shadows where he sat. Just what was he? Not a man anyway. Or not just a man...or something.

A muscle twitched against his jaw. I had been caught staring. Hardly submissive, and, I had been instructed, displeasing to most lords. I quickly lowered my gaze.

This was not going at all as I had planned. The longer I floated on this path, against the tide, the farther from my goal I would get. Would it be best, I wondered, to attempt an escape before we reached...wherever it was we were going? I stared at the carriage floor. Less than a full step to the door, but so was Firestriker. He was stronger than me for certain, and likely just as fast, or faster. I had not counted on a fit master. Plus, I couldn't discount the dagger-toothed wolves strapped to the carriage. If they were trained to pull without command or direction I didn't want to imagine what they might do if I ran. It was common practice that a running slave received only death, and at the mercy of such beasts...I withheld a shudder.

"You are afraid," Firestriker's voice was soft, and I thought I caught a hint of disappointment.

I fought the urge to frown. And argue. Slaves don't argue, or show anything but a pleasant face to their masters.

"Do you fear me?" he asked.

"No master," I answered automatically. The pleasing answer, the right answer.

"No?"

"No," I lie.

Firestriker blew out a breath. Amusement? Or irritation? I didn't dare raise my eyes to his again to find out. "Come closer," he commanded.

My heart slammed against my ribs and my stomach leapt upward. I sensed him shift in his seat, stretch out and lean back. Legs with bulging muscles filled my vision and my nostrils filled with the scent of the air after a storm. His scent.

I had little time to process how it was possible for a man to smell like rain before another bulge caught my attention, and held it. His black fitted pants did little to hide his straining erection and suddenly my mind filled with all of the training the managers had forced me to learn—but never experience. Except instead of dull, factual positions and techniques I was bombarded with images of carnal actions and possibilities, images vividly involving a dark haired man with amber eyes. My body reacted of its own accord, with a deep pull at my core and a tingling warmth between my legs.

I do not want to consummate. A deeper part of my mind reminded. I struggled to rein in my wayward desire, but my body was having none of it.

Strong fingers gripped my chin, a gentle touch, but one that demanded no nonsense. Firestriker pulled my face up. "Look at me," he demanded.

I obeyed and shrank back at what I saw. The amusement in his eyes had disappeared, replaced by a hard, challenging look. His intention perfectly clear. He released my chin and indicated a spot next to him on the opposite bench.

I eyed the spot warily, there was hardly enough room for all of his bulk, I would be crushed against him.

The lump in my throat, my stomach maybe, forced me to swallow. Everything inside felt upside-down. I do not want to consummate. And I lie, even to myself.

I rose to a half standing position and took a step toward him, as commanded, his scent grew stronger. Nearly overwhelming in its headiness. A bump in the road shook the carriage, the sound of the wheels crashing over the obstacle coincided with my flailing balance. I tipped toward Firestriker, but managed to catch myself before falling, one hand on the seat beside him and one directly on his chest.

How did he remain so hot? My palm burned with a pleasant warmth, just short of painful. I tried to pull it away, but a strong grip held me there, so that I was caught, hovering over him. My face a hand's-width from his.

Amber eyes scanned mine and somehow I could feel him searching again.

"We will have to work on your lying," he growled softly.

Ohh, I was in trouble, he was definitely displeased. So much for acting the passive slave. Mentally I prepared, at the choosing house nothing short of physical pain was payment for such a mistake.

"You will need to get much better at it," he muttered after a breath. "And I will show you how to hide your fear as well, you reek of it."

For a moment I thought nothing. Just blinked in confusion, my face so close to his. And then I was desperately trying to bury the fury that boiled within me. I reek of it?

A bedroom slave does not hold much dignity, but the indignation, the shame of his words struck me like a physical force. Not since the day my parents sold me to the training house had I felt so debased.

What did you think it would be, when you were sold? A voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Fothmar chided.

I stuffed him away. Stuffed everything away and cleared my mind. Meditation had been one of those trainings I disregarded as useless. I would have much rather worked on my endurance, or strength. Those, I reasoned, would be useful one day. Now I found myself wishing I had paid a little better attention to the methods. I pushed that thought away too, to the place I was stuffing all my other emotions.

Firestriker said nothing more, though he studied my face while I struggled for neutrality. My arms ached from supporting my own weight.

After a long moment he nodded and tugged me down to the seat beside him. He kept hold of my left arm though, so I was draped against his side.

I held still and waited for his next motion. When he remained still for a good long while, making no move to farther our closeness, nor demands of my services, I shifted relieving the pin pricks forming along my leg.

I let out a shaky breath, relieved to be facing the carriage interior once more. The man was far to intense for my liking. What now? I had not planned for this. Firestriker was a long way from the greedy, dim-minded Lord that I had sought. I would need an entirely new strategy to fool him. And for the first time since I formulated my plan of escape three years before, I worried that I couldn't do it.

"It is a long way to the Amber Guard Aerie," Firestriker muttered. "Sleep."

As if joined with his words my eyelids sunk, and the last thing I recalled was the heat of his shoulder against my cheek.