Fire in His Blood

That sort of attitude is growing on me.

Of course, not everything about his little inspection was nice. He examined the scratches on my breasts with the same avid intensity that he did the scratches on my arms and legs. It’d made me a little wiggly with discomfort, but he wasn’t aroused over it.

Which is ironic, because I am. More and more, his inspections, his attention, and his laser focus on me gets under my skin. Not unpleasantly, but…I’m just waiting to see where it leads. I feel like I’m crazy for viewing his attentions as a weird form of foreplay, but there it is. I shouldn’t, though; Kael just wants to ensure I’m all right. Sometimes I think this strange attraction I have is all in my head…but there’s no denying his erection.

So I let Kael fuss over me and didn’t say a thing. After he was reassured that I was whole and in one piece, he stroked my skin and repeated my name with a pleased tone that said a million things and nothing.

Hence the communication lessons. We need to figure out a way to talk.

The only problem is that Kael doesn’t seem all that interested in learning English. He takes my efforts to teach him with amused patience, as if the entire thing is completely unnecessary. It’s clear he’s far more interested in touching me than learning to speak. Even now, he lets his claws drag through my wavy hair. He’s fascinated by it.

I make an exasperated noise and turn to him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Clau-dah,” he murmurs again, and sniffs my hair.

His eyes haven’t gone black a single time today, and so I feel comfortable throwing a little teasing back in his direction. “Oh yeah? How would you like it if I run my fingers through your hair, huh?” I turn to face him and reach for his tumbled bronze locks, then hesitate, just in case. When he doesn’t show any reaction except eagerness, I touch his hair. The texture is surprising—it’s a good deal stiffer than mine despite the loose tumble of it, and the strands feel twice as thick. I can’t get over how fascinating it is. Compared to his hair, mine probably does feel like floss. Maybe I spend too much time petting his hair, because he closes his eyes and rumbles low in his chest, a sign that he enjoys my touch very much.

And I’m…not hating touching him. His hair is interesting, and I wouldn’t mind playing with it a bit more. I also wouldn’t mind learning by touch just what other differences he has. Does his skin feel different? What about those retractable spikes at his elbows? But I don’t dare, because playing with him is like, well, playing with fire, even though I hate the irony of that particular thought.

I shouldn’t encourage him. Shouldn’t let him think that I’m seeking his attentions. His near-constant hard-on has made it pretty obvious what he’d like from me, and I don’t know that I can return the same. So I drop my hands, and hate that I regret it a little. Funny how weirdly good it makes me feel that someone’s happy just to be with me. Kael looks at me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread. I shouldn’t care what a dragon—a killer, a demon of fire and ash—thinks of me.

But when he opens his eyes and his mouth cocks up in that half-smile that mimics my own?

My silly, foolish heart skips a beat.

“Clau-dah,” he murmurs again, pulling me close.

And because I’m weak, I let him drag me against him, my breasts pressing against his chest. My breath catches in my throat as I look up at him. He’s huge, at least a foot taller than me, and with massive shoulders. He could hurt me so easily. The erection stabbing into my belly reminds me that he can overpower me at any time and take what he wants.

Instead, he stands here, flirting with me in his weird dragon way. Teasing.

Kael runs his fingers through my hair again and leans in toward me. I close my eyes, wondering if he’s going to kiss me, and if he does, what it’ll feel like. Do dragons even know how to kiss? If he doesn’t, will he let me show him how? I imagine his reaction to me putting my lips on his.

But he only leans in and inhales, sniffing my hair as if it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. “Clau-dah,” he murmurs again, voice low and sinfully husky.

That stupid thrum of desire skitters through me again. I’m turned on by a dragon, and it’s a little worrying. He’s not entirely human even in this form—his height and bulk are definitely not normal, and the strong lines of his face and the dappled striations of his skin won’t let him escape notice. The spiky horns? Yeah, not normal. But to me, they’re starting to become normal. Like I look at him and I don’t see anything strange anymore.

It’s just Kael.

I pull away from him and leave the bathroom behind, heading back out to the main area of the building’s top floor. I rub my arms as I go and don’t look behind me. I don’t have to, because I know Kael’s going to be just a few steps behind me. I feel like if I stay in that small bathroom, we’re not going to be thinking about water for much longer. For some reason, whenever we get into a small room, he moves that much closer to me. And when he does, I have a hard time concentrating on anything but his nearness.

So, a change of scenery.

I walk out onto the main floor and into a pool of sunlight. I step into it and tilt my face up, closing my eyes and absorbing the warmth of the sun. The roof’s gone on this end of the building, but the walls are mostly intact, and instead of making me feel like a trapped rat, it almost feels like I’m in a really big sunroom. I kind of like it. This building’s full of clutter and tossed, weather-destroyed paper, but it’s not concrete rubble and scrap metal like the last one. I even like the vines and greenery that have started to crawl into every inch of the available surface. It’s almost pretty, as much as anything in burned-out Old Dallas can be.

And I’m still thinking about what it’d be like to kiss Kael. Damn it.

“Clau-dah,” Kael calls again, his voice teasing. I feel a shiver through my body at the playful sound of his voice, and turn toward him. He’s two steps behind me, like I thought, and the moment I turn, he pulls me back against him, grinning like he’s caught me in the world’s slowest chase. I lick my lips, the tips of my breasts tight against his chest, and I resist the urge to rub up against him. Doing that is a Very Bad Idea. I tell myself it has to be Stockholm syndrome. Has to be. When his eyes go black, he still scares the crap out of me.

But at the same time…I’m fascinated by the fact that I’m the center of his universe. Maybe I’m starved for attention or hungry for affection in a world that’s so brutal and unforgiving that even a monster’s devotion seems like a fascinating thing. I know it’s not healthy. I’m…just not sure that I care.