Eight Simple Rules for Dating a Dragon--A Novel of the Embraced

  “Then we should speak Eberoni.”

  He shook his head. “These men trade with the Eberoni. They know the language.”

  “Oh.” She gasped when he took her hand.

  “They’ll think we’re having a romantic moment.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

  “Stop that.” She pulled her hand from his grasp.

  “Ah.” His eyes twinkled with humor. “Now they’ll think we’re having a lovers’ quarrel.”

  Warmth flooded her cheeks. “Is this a jest to you?”

  “No. No one will dare harm you if they believe you are special to me. That is the best way for me to protect you.”

  “I understand that, but it doesn’t mean you can touch me without my permission.”

  “Would you give me permission?”

  She started to say no, but the entreating look on his handsome face gave her pause. Good goddesses, this man was far too appealing. She took a bracing sip of wine.

  He rested an arm on the back of her chair. “You’ll need to call me Silas.”

  “But I hardly know—”

  “And I’ll call you Gwen. Or Gwennie. Is there an endearment you prefer?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sweetheart? Snookums?” His mouth curled up. “Bunnykins?”

  She grimaced. “Are you serious?”

  “I guess bunnykins was too much.”

  She slapped his shoulder.

  “I love it when you play rough, snookums.”

  “Stop it.” Her mouth twitched. The man was outrageous.

  He grinned. “That’s better. We have to seem comfortable together, or no one will believe we’re lovers.”

  She snorted. “Then I’ll be sure to slap you whenever I feel like it.”

  “Excellent.” He scooted even closer and lowered his voice. “How do you think the queen is being poisoned?”

  His close proximity made her pulse race, but thank the goddesses, they were finally talking business. “The easiest way would be through her food or drink.”

  “That’s what I thought. So for the past year, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, Margosha, has been secretly testing everything the queen eats or drinks. So far, she’s encountered no effect.”

  Gwennore winced. “She does it voluntarily? That could be dangerous.”

  “I know, but Margosha is determined to help me. She served my mother for years, then she was my governess for a year after Mother died.”

  “Oh.” Gwennore recalled how he had mentioned his mother drowning in the Norva River. “How old were you when your mother passed away?”

  “Six.” He turned his head to gaze at the passing shoreline. “That was a horrible year. I lost a brother and a sister. Then Sorcha was sent away. And then Mother…” He closed his eyes briefly.

  What a terrible thing for a child to endure, Gwennore thought. Was he lonesome growing up? And why would a man have such pretty eyelashes? When he opened his eyes to look at her, her breath hitched. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” he whispered. “I’m not sure if she was overcome with grief or in the grip of madness, but she threw herself off the bridge in Dreshka.”

  Gwennore gasped.

  “I tried to be enough for her. Enough of a reason for her to live…”

  Gwennore clasped his hand. “You mustn’t blame yourself. You were only a child.”

  He squeezed her hand with his own. “The following summer, when I was seven, the plague swept through the country again. The physicians claimed that the disease became more dangerous in warmer temperatures, so I was sent far to the north where it is always cold.”

  How sad, Gwennore thought. He must have been lonely.

  His mouth curled up. “It wasn’t that bad. The castle is owned by Aleksi’s father, Lord Marenko. He was a former general, so he trained Dimitri, Aleksi, and myself.”

  “That was when you became close friends?”

  He nodded. “You can count on them. And Lady Margosha. She’ll help us however she can.”

  “I see.” Gwennore withdrew her hand and took another sip of wine. “Are you sure she’s tested everything the queen eats or drinks?”

  “Yes. I don’t think the problem could be as simple as the water supply, or everyone in Draven Castle and the village of Dreshka would be crazy.”

  “True.” She sipped more wine while she considered. “It has to be something that only the queen comes in contact with. Mayhap the poison is embedded in something she wears, such as her clothes.”

  “Mayhap? I heard you say that before. Where did you learn Norveshki?”

  She frowned. “Is there something amiss with my use of your language?”

  “Your grammar is perfect. You have a bit of an accent, but I like it. Very much.”

  She drank more wine, trying to ignore how flattered she was. “I learned all four mainland languages in the Convent of the Two Moons where I grew up. The sisters there are famous for transcribing and illustrating books.”

  “I know. I have a few of them.”

  “Really?” She smiled at him. “I learned Norveshki by transcribing Torushki’s Bedtime Tales of a Mountain Troll.”

  “Are you kidding? That has to be about five hundred pages long.”

  “Four hundred and eighty-six pages, to be precise, including the illustrations. And I transcribed it twice. By the time I finished, I was fairly fluent in the language.”

  He winced. “That book is four hundred years old.”

  “I know.” She shuddered. “I kept imagining four hundred years of sweet young children having nightmares. Why on Aerthlan do the Norveshki tell their children such frightful tales right before bedtime?”

  “They are cautionary tales to warn children not to wander off into the forest. A great deal of our country is covered with vast forests, where it is easy to get lost. And there are bears, wolves, and wildcats—”

  “Pray, tell me the mountain trolls do not actually exist. I had a few nightmares myself when I was doing the illustrations.”

  His mouth twitched. “Pray? You do realize you were working on a book that is four hundred years old.”

  “Yes, I know. But we receive more orders for it than any other Norveshki book. It is a classic.”

  He gave her a pointed look. “Four hundred years old.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me my manner of speech is archaic?”

  “No.” He grinned. “I’m saying you’re a classic.”

  Warmth invaded her cheeks, but she wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or flattered. “I shall endeavor to update my speech to more modern usage.”

  “You don’t need to change, Gwennore. I like you the way you are.”

  More heat rushed to her face, and she gulped down more wine. “You needn’t flatter me to ensure my cooperation. I realize you consider my kind the enemy—”

  “You’re not from Woodwyn. You’re my sister’s adopted sister. And you’re clever, brave, and beautiful.” When she started to object, he raised a hand. “I know you don’t want to believe it. Brody told me you’ve been encountering prejudice, but you shouldn’t listen to a few ignorant fools who are afraid of you.”

  She swallowed hard. “You think they’re afraid?”

  He nodded.

  “And you’re not?”

  “No. You’re one of a kind. That might frighten some, but I find you intriguing. And incredibly beautiful.”

  She turned away, her heart thundering in her ears. Good goddesses, how could she spend a month with this man? Was he being honest with her, or was he still trying to manipulate her? He’d promised to protect her, but who would protect her heart?

  She glanced up at the sky. Puff, are you still there? If I need to run away, would you take me?

  The dragon from before was still there, circling overhead and not answering her.

  “Where is Puff?” she asked softly.

  The general sighed, then took a drink of wine. “H
e’s busy at the moment.”

  “He said he would never be far away.”

  A look of annoyance crossed the general’s face. “I thought we were talking about us. Why are you thinking about the dragon all of a sudden?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? He saved my life.” She eased her nerves by concentrating on cutting an apple into slices. “I could be wrong, but I think he likes me.”

  With a snort, the general stole one of her apples slices, then bit into it. “Maybe you should date him then.”

  “Date?” It was a term she wasn’t familiar with.

  “It’s a modern Norveshki word for ‘courtship.’” He tossed the rest of the apple slice into his mouth.

  She scoffed. “I couldn’t possibly be courted by a dragon. We’re not even the same species.”

  “But you think he likes you,” the general muttered. “And you seem more than a bit obsessed with him.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She slapped his hand away when he tried to steal another slice of apple. “I’m merely grateful that he saved my life. And I consider him an important ally in case I find myself in trouble.”

  The general arched an eyebrow at her. “I said I would protect you.”

  She shrugged. “Puff can do things that you could never do.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I can do things that Puff could never do.”

  “Can you fly?”

  He leaned close. “I can take you places he never can.”

  Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh. “There is no need for you to compete with him. I have no intention of dating a dragon. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  The general swept a lock of hair away from her brow and tucked it behind her ear. “The first rule for dating a dragon is that whenever he takes you for a ride, you hold on tight and never let go.”

  She swallowed hard. Somehow, she had a strange feeling he was referring to himself. She turned away and gulped down the rest of her wine. Don’t fall for him, don’t fall for him.

  He hissed in a breath. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  She gave him a wary look. “Excuse me?”

  “Gwen, you know how I can communicate with the dragons. Dimitri and Aleksi can, too. There are only a few Norveshki men who can, and we’re all descended from the Three Cursed Clans.”

  She blinked. “There are no women with the ability? I mean, other than me?”

  “None that I have ever heard of. Now perhaps you will understand how unusual you are.”

  “I—I don’t know why I can do it. Mayhap—I mean, perhaps you should tell me more about the curse.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not real, so there’s no need.”

  “But there might be something in the mythology of it that will give us a clue as to how to be rid of it.”

  “Forget the damned curse,” he growled. “I’m trying to explain something to you. You’re not going to like it, but I can’t continue like this. It’s not fair to you.”

  A sliver of apprehension stole over her. “What is it?”

  “Since Dimitri, Aleksi, and I can communicate with the dragons, we can also talk to one another with our minds. But we don’t like the idea of anyone invading our thoughts, so we have learned how to erect mental shields.”

  She nodded, recalling the wall she’d encountered when she’d done a reading on him.

  “I’m telling you this so you can learn how to build a shield. You don’t have one, Gwen.”

  She stiffened. “How—how would you know that?”

  He winced. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been hearing your thoughts.”

  Chapter Ten

  Silas groaned inwardly at the horrified look on Gwennore’s face. Dammit, he hated revealing this to her. But it was better to be honest with her, so she could learn to protect her privacy. And if he had to listen to any more of her struggle against her attraction to him, he couldn’t guarantee he would behave himself.

  “You—you’ve been hearing everything?” Her voice rose.

  “Shh, not so loud.” He looked at the oarsmen, who were stealing glances.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth, then leaned over and moaned. Good goddesses, no! He must have heard me calling him General Gorgeous. And he heard all the times I—dammit, he can hear me now!

  “It’s nothing to concerned about,” he whispered. “So I found out early in our relationship that you’re attracted to me—no big deal.”

  She shot him an incredulous look. No big deal?

  “That’s why I made it clear that I’m attracted to you, too. So we would be even.”

  “We will never be even,” she ground out. “Not when I can’t hear you. I can’t believe you…” She lowered her head into her hands and groaned. I’m so embarrassed. Mortified. Where can I crawl into a hole? Should I throw myself off the barge and swim ashore? We’re not that far from Eberon. I could be there before nightfall.

  “Gwen, relax.”

  She glowered at him. “How can I relax when you’ve been invading my privacy? How dare you!”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. Your mind is so open, it’s like you’re shouting at me.”

  “You want to hear shouting?” Her voice rose again.

  “Gwen.” He touched her shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me.” She jumped to her feet and stumbled a second before grabbing on to the table. Goodness, I drank too much. He reached out to steady her, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t. And stop invading my mind!”

  “I never wanted to.” He stood and leaned toward her to whisper. “Surely you agree that it’s better for me to tell you now than to let the situation continue as it is.”

  “You should have been honest from the beginning.” Holy goddesses, have I been a fool? Brigitta warned me he has a great deal of secrets. And I know he’s capable of deception. The scoundrel.

  “If I was truly a scoundrel, I would have never told you the truth.”

  He heard me! “What else are you not telling me?”

  “I’ll tell you everything you’ll need to know in order to help me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That means you plan to keep some things secret.”

  He winced. “I will be as honest as I possibly can.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “It should be. If I do keep something secret, it’s because it would be dangerous for you to know.”

  But that only makes me more curious. She looked away.

  He groaned inwardly. If she found out the biggest secret of Norveshka, she would not be allowed to leave. And then she would really resent him. He would have to make sure she stayed focused on the health problems. It was her curiosity about the dragons that was dangerous.

  “I’m not sure I can trust you,” she muttered.

  “I realize that. But I will do my best to protect you. First we need to protect your privacy.” He stepped closer. “Let me show you how to build a shield.”

  “Leave me alone!” She backed away. “I want to be alone for a while.” She rushed to the side of the barge and grasped the railing. Dear goddesses, what have I gotten myself into?

  With a sigh, Silas sat down and refilled his cup. This hadn’t gone well. But he would have to be a fool to think it could have gone any other way.

  * * *

  Don’t think about him. He’ll hear you, Gwennore admonished herself. Wait—so what if he does? Then he’ll know what you really think. That he’s a rotten scoundrel. A low-down, dirty rat of a stinking bastard!

  Behind her, she heard a cough as he choked on his wine, and she smiled to herself.

  Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm her nerves. One month. That was all she had promised the filthy bastard. She would concentrate on figuring out how the queen was being poisoned. And she’d work with the women he had mentioned—Lady Margosha and the army physician, Annika. For the most part, she would completely ignore the sorry, rotten bastard. She’d pretend that he didn’t even exist.

  He cleared his throat behind
her.

  A wicked temptation to take revenge popped into her mind. Did she dare? Why not? He deserved it.

  She closed her eyes and envisioned herself sauntering up to him and shoving her discarded chair out of the way. Then, ever so slowly, she would lift up her skirt till she could straddle his legs and settle in his lap. Then she would stroke her fingers down his cheek, and when his green eyes glittered with heated desire, she would pull her hand back and slap him silly.

  “Not funny,” he growled.

  She glanced back, affecting an innocent look. “Is something wrong?”

  When he stared back at her, her heart stuttered in her chest. Goodness, the gleam in his eyes was even hotter than she’d imagined. She turned back to gaze at the shoreline. Two could get burned playing that game.

  Don’t think about him. She concentrated on the shoreline and the hillside covered with thick forest. Behind the hill, there were peaks of mountains covered with snow. Such a breathtakingly beautiful country.

  The scent of pine and spruce trees wafted toward her on a cool, fresh breeze. So many trees. No wonder there were tales to warn children not to wander off. But were the mountain trolls real? The illustrations in Torushki’s Bedtime Tales of a Mountain Troll had shown them as short, swarthy-looking creatures with long, bushy hair and beards, bulbous noses, pointed teeth, and bare feet. They dressed in dirty furs and never bathed.

  They probably stank as bad as the bastard sitting behind her.

  He sighed loud enough that she could hear.

  Don’t think about him. So did the mountain trolls truly exist? She focused on the view in front of her and strained her ears. As an elf, she’d always had better hearing than her sisters. There was the lapping of waves against the barge and the rhythmic swooshing sound of oars, but she listened beyond that.

  Once again she heard a whispering sound, murmurs carried to her over a soft breeze. She glanced up. There was only the one silent dragon overhead. These were multiple voices, and they seemed to be coming from the forest.

  Can you hear me? she asked mentally, and a chorus of soft voices wafted into her mind.

  Who was that?

  She is not one of us. Ignore her.

  She must not be one of the barbarians. They cannot hear us.