Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
He’s cold—so cold.
Not just cool to the touch—cold, damp, and clammy, like he’s just climbed out of a river in midwinter.
“Oh gods…Xaren, what—what happened to you?”
His skin is wet—he must have washed recently. That much I can guess from the faint scent of lye soap lingering beneath the dungeon rot. But he hasn’t dried—his black hair hangs limp, plastered to his temples and neck. His skin, usually a warm bronze kissed with gold, is pale and ashen. He’s shaking.
He’s always been so hot—so alive—from the fire of his Drake inside him. What could make him like this?
He lifts his head slowly…too slowly.
And when his eyes meet mine, I gasp.
His eye—his human eye—is dull and listless. But the other…his Drake’s eye…
It’s gone.
Or no, worse. Not gone—it’s empty.
Where there was once a brilliant molten gold glow, now there’s only a flat gray orb. Sightless…lifeless.
“No…” I breathe, my heart plummeting. “No, please…”
“Elaina?” His voice is a hoarse rasp, barely audible. “Little dove…is it really you?”
Tears sting my eyes.
“It’s me,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his broad chest. “It’s really me.”
“I dreamed of you so often…it’s hard to tell what’s real anymore.” He tries to smile, but the muscles in his face barely move. “They told me you were coming. They even…bathed me. To get the dungeon grime off, I guess.”
I nod, burying my face in his chest.
“That’s why you’re wet. But why haven’t you dried yourself? Why are you so cold?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“My Drake’s fire is almost gone. I can feel him…drifting. Dimming. Like a candle burning out.”
Then, he presses his face to my hair.
“But now…now that you’re near me, I can feel him stirring. Just a little.”
I pull back just enough to look into his face—and I see it. A faint shimmer. A flicker of gold returning to his eye. Barely there, but…real. Alive.
Maybe touching him really is helping. But it’s not enough—I have to do more.
“Come on.” I take his freezing hand in mine and tug gently. “Come with me.”
He lets me pull him to his feet. He’s wearing the same ragged trousers he donned the night he Shifted for me and nothing else. Well, besides the hateful collar. It’s still bound tight around his throat—the cruel black iron padlocked in place.
If I had the key, I’d tear it off with my bare hands.
I wish again that I hadn’t put it back. But Prince Dorian would have found it when he searched me and I might not have gotten to see Xaren at all.
“Come on,” I whisper, guiding him to the cot. “Let me help you.”
“What are you doing, little dove?” His voice is dazed. It’s like he’s drugged…or dying.
I push the awful thought aside and reach for the laces at the front of my gown, yanking them open with trembling fingers. The bodice loosens and the silk falls away, pooling at my feet. I’m left in nothing but my stockings. The Queen didn’t allow me to wear underthings—of course she didn’t. I’m here to fuck, after all—just as she said. Why should I be allowed any modesty?
I kneel to strip Xaren’s trousers away and push him gently back onto the thin mattress of the cot.
“What…what are you doing to me?” he asks again.
“I’m warming you up,” I say fiercely. “Now help me—put your arms around me and get close!”
He does, slowly, as I crawl on top of him, my bare body pressing down against his. He’s so big beneath me, but it’s like lying on marble—cold and unyielding. His body temperature is much lower than anything a living human should have but I snuggle closer, even though pressing against him makes me shiver.
My efforts seem to be having some effect. His arms wrap around me fully and he hugs me close.
“Gods,” he whispers into my hair. “Your soft little body…it’s so warm.”
I bury my face in his neck, inhaling deeply.
At first there’s nothing. No scent.
But then…a hint.
The faintest breath of spice…of leather and smoke.
He’s coming back. I can feel it. I can smell it.
I press closer, rubbing against him. His skin is warming beneath mine—flesh is replacing stone.
“Hold me tighter,” I murmur, lifting my head to look into his eyes.
And there it is—that glow. That impossible, beautiful molten gold. His Drake’s eye is alive again. Dim but present.
I’m bringing him back!
He hugs me tighter and I can feel the firmness in his arms. His strength is returning.
“Oh, little dove,” he whispers, his deep voice breaking. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too,” I whisper back, brushing my lips over his jaw.
And that’s when I notice it—there’s heat building inside me.
Not just the warmth of hope or love. No, this is different.
This is fire.
What I feel is a pulsing, spreading heat that coils in my belly and slips between my thighs. My breath quickens and my skin is flushed. Every inch of me begins to tingle and throb with a kind of unbearable pressure.