Lord Dragon's Conquest

“I dunno, but it made Godzilla look like a munchkin.”

His mouth turned down. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“Yes.” And yet there wasn’t much conviction in the word. Whatever she’d seen in the cave was receding from her mind. Larkan held her so closely that mere inches were between them. Inches of what felt like super-heated air.

Keltie tried to read the look on his face. “What’s the matter?”

His mouth curled, a wry half smile that made her swallow hard. “I’m not accustomed to being rescued.”

“We all deserve it now and then.”

His breath escaped in something between a laugh and a sigh. “Is that so?”

“It is.” After all, he’d stood between her and danger. That had been a dizzying moment, as if her existence had suddenly reshaped itself right there in the clean, snow-tinged air. “And besides, there was the painting to think of. I couldn’t have an overgrown bat bumping into it and destroying the paint.”

Larkan lifted a brow. “Then I was only part of your motivation?”

“I’m a professor looking for tenure. A find like that means everything to me. And apart from all that, it’s a piece the world needs to see. Regardless of its historical importance, it’s beautiful artwork. The use of line and color, the vision of the painter...” She trailed off, frozen by the confusion on his face. “You’re not big on art, are you?”

“I understand beauty, but I rarely hear people speak of drawings like that.” There was admiration in his tone, but it was also marked with caution.

“ Freedom of expression truly is a natural right.” Keltie felt her skin grow warm as her enthusiasm rose. “ No matter when this painter walked the earth, he or she had something to tell people—maybe about hunting, or about some deity who was important to his or her kin. And their work still has the power to speak to us now.”

“You live in a very different world than I do,” he said softly.

“Then visit mine.” She wasn’t sure where the words had come from. Maybe straight from some part of her that had more hutzpah than her waking mind.

“Very well.” Larkan looked at her, his deep green eyes half-hooded, almost sleepy. He bent so gradually that Keltie wasn’t sure at first what was going on, but then his lips were on hers.

She had been kissed, but had never been kissed. Not like this. Not like she was suddenly changing states from a solid to a shimmer of pure light. His mouth was hot and amazingly soft against hers—and surprisingly tentative for all that heat, as if he was unsure of what she might do.

Hesitation made sense. Larkan was a stranger. He had no business kissing her, much less the way he was doing it, like he might melt her from the inside out with just his touch. Keltie hovered on her toes, part of her wanting to bolt because the kiss had been so unexpected. He wasn’t forcing her, but she was still nailed to the spot with surprise.

And then one kiss turned into two, the second an expression of pure hunger. Her first instinct was to argue and reason, but her words died unspoken. Her sudden scorching awareness of her needs had little to do with everyday logic. She ran her hands from his arms up the hard strength of his shoulders, easing herself closer until they stood like a single figure in the shadowy cave. And they kissed, and kissed again.

When they broke apart, Larkan still didn’t let her go, and she was more than fine with that. And yet, with a pang she could feel his mood shift from pure desire to something like sadness. When she murmured a protest, he moved one hand to her forehead, as if she were burning with fever. His touch was gentle but intrusive, as if somehow it exerted pressure on her very thoughts.

“You do not want to return to this cave, Keltie Clarke.” His voice was filled with regret.

Her response was immediate. “What are you talking about?”

“Hush.”

Now she was angry. “Of course I want to come back! Those paintings...”

“Hush.” He pressed his palm harder against her forehead. “Don’t speak of them to anyone else. It’s very important that you keep silent.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” She tried to push away, but now he was holding her fast.

His mouth turned down, hard and unhappy. “Don’t speak of me. Don’t tell anyone of this place or bring anyone here. Forget me and don’t come back.”

“No!” And yet her anger was shredding to wisps, her will turned gossamer and useless. What Larkan was demanding broke her heart, and yet somehow she couldn’t feel it. It was as if he’d wrapped her mind in soft cotton, but not enough to blunt her curiosity. “Why not? This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Her question hung in the air, echoing against the hollows of the cave walls. Did she mean the paintings, or him, or all of the above? She wasn’t sure.

Larkan fixed her with his green gaze. Something far more powerful than an ordinary man looked down on her. “I want to fly through the moon and stars and sky all day and every night,” he said. “Sometimes what we want just isn’t possible.”

Chapter Three

Larkan received his summons late the next day. He strode down the passageway to the queen’s chambers, unsure what to expect. The young queen did not summon a warrior of the Flameborn unless she wanted one of two things: his death, or someone else’s.

Politics and petty intrigues. Queen Nadiana liked her entertainment. She was little more than a girl, but she was already well-steeped in the ways of the dragon court. Frustration and a touch of dread made him quicken his pace. He was a creature of sword and fire and didn’t like games—and he was sick to death of bowing and kneeling to the queen. Keeping his head down gave him nothing but a view of the floor. Dragons were meant for the sky.

They were hunters, made of wind and fire. As first among the warriors, he had enjoyed more than a taste of that delicious freedom, but it was unlikely to last forever. One day he would no longer be the strongest. And a much more immediate threat was that the queen would finally take a consort and put him in Larkan’s place. He couldn’t let that happen. He refused to be chained like a prisoner in the darkness forever, losing the entire outside world.

Without willing it, he thought of the stolen kiss in the cave. He had already lost the feast of Keltie’s lips, and that was hard enough. The memory of her had plagued him all through his sleeping hours. Now he understood the legends about dragons devouring human maidens—except that she had tried to rescue him. Definitely there was spice in that sweetness. Forbidden? Yes. It was a delicacy he would never taste again. His magic had seen to that.

Regret sang through him, deep as an ancient bell. He’d been sorry to send Keltie away, but it was safer for them both. Dragons and humans did not share the same world. If they had been caught, it would have meant death for her, dishonor and imprisonment for him. And prison is the same as death for one who has seen the stars.

Larkan kept walking, his bare feet all but silent on the cool floor. This part of the den was deep inside the mountain, and a forest of shadows danced between torchlight and stone, sliding over Larkan’s skin as he passed. Even though he was the Flame’s chief warrior, he wore little more than loose leggings of finespun cloth and the armband of beaten gold that marked him as a captain. He carried no weapons. None were permitted in Nadiana’s presence.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.