Dragon Heat (Dragons of Perralt Book 2) (3 page)

Laila’s stomach tightened into a compact ball. Where was he taking her and why?

Her fingers ached to rub her coin. A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind as she tried to work out what exactly was going on. The man had promised to have her marry a prince.

Why did he want the coin? What made it so important that he was going to grant her dreams?

Impossible. Girls like her from Fifth Point did not marry princes. They did not live in fancy castles and command a dozen servants. No. It was impossible.

Yet.

She glanced at the man next to her. His handsome profile pulled at her. That golden mane of his made her want to run her fingers through it until he purred with pleasure. He was bigger, stronger, and quicker than any man she knew. Deep down, though, she knew his gentle grace hid a beast. Not an evil, scary beast. A strong, powerful animal that could force his will on anything he came across.

The thought made her insides grow warm and soft. What was it about this man that reminded her she was a woman? What was it about him that made her think of starry nights and soft beds?

Biting her lip, she kept quiet. She had learned long ago that the direct approach rarely led to the truth. Better to bide her time and see what was what. Besides, she still had her dagger.

As they turned a corner, she froze, her feet sliding to a quick stop.

“I can’t go in there,” she hissed.

This wasn’t the market, this wasn’t the town. This was as far away from Fifth Point as a person could go in her world.

Tall brick walls stood as a bulwark against people like her.

He wanted to enter the protected enclave. Patrolled by guardsmen who would love nothing more than throwing her in jail before shipping her off to the mines.

“Why?” he asked with a curious frown.

Laila shook her head and started to back away.

“Girl,” he said, “you are with me, there is nothing to fear. I assure you.”

She looked up into those warm hazel eyes of his. The ones that looked like they had seen the beginning of time. As if there was nothing under the sun they hadn’t dealt with before.

Her shoulders twitched, and her palms grew wet with worry. But, she could not look away.

“They don’t let people like me into places like that,” she said, as her cheeks turned warm. She knew she was blushing with shame.

Flint smiled down at her. “As I said, do not worry. Besides. Where else are we going to find a prince?”

Her insides turned over. He was serious. The man actually planned on marrying her off to a prince. For some reason, the thought bothered her. It should have filled her with joy and happiness. Instead, she felt a sad weight settle on her.

He took her arm and started to guide her to the guarded gates. The two soldiers only gave him a cursory glance. Examining her from head to foot. She could feel their eyes resting on her, though. Like eagles waiting for a rabbit to move. She well knew their thoughts. What was this gentleman doing with this gutter snipe?

She swallowed hard and lifted her head. To hell with them. She was with Flint.  If he said it would work, then she would trust him. Besides, what could they do to her? The mines probably weren’t that much worse than where she already lived.

They passed through the gate as if they were stepping through the kitchen door. No issues, no problems. She wondered why she had ever worried. Apparently, Flint belonged. But, what was even more important, who he was with, belonged.

That was saying quite a bit. A warm feeling flowed through her. She pulled her arm from his grasp and continued walking. Head up, with a firm step. She belonged here, she was trying to say.

Her eyes scanned the neighborhood, and her stomach sank. The houses were beautiful. Big, ornate, solid wooden doors. Glass in the windows and plants in little boxes outside each one of them.

The colors and cleanliness were a shock to her system. People actually lived in these picturesque homes. Only a few people walked on the broad avenue. Each of them dressed as if they belonged here. The women wore fancy day dresses that looked like they would cost a person half a lifetime of wages. The men in tight fitting jackets.

Not a few blocks away, children were fighting over scraps. Women had to sell their bodies to live. Men stole, and killed to survive.

But here, no sense of evil touched this place.

Laila noticed several of the women shoot Flint looks of interest. The same looks the women of the market place had sent. Interest, want, even availability. It was enough to make her grind her teeth. What was it about this man that had women on the verge of falling on the floor ready to spread their legs at a mere smirk? 

A little boy ran past them, laughing, giggling with pure joy. A servant in gray chased after him also laughing, obviously enjoying the game. Her heart lurched. When was the last time she had seen a little boy run for the pure pleasure of it? Usually, they were being chased by older boys or worse.

She had heard about the protected enclave ever since she was a little girl. The power, the majesty. The unbelievable wealth.

It was true, she realized. Every one of the stories were true.

She had grown up on tales about what happened to people who didn’t belong and tried to enter this place. How they were shipped off to the mines and never heard from again. Now, here she was, walking down the cobblestone street with a giant Golden Man.

Her life truly had changed. She wondered briefly what would happen in the future. What new and terrifying thing would occur next?

“Here we are,” Flint said, indicating a house made of white stone. Four windows on the bottom floor. Just like the house next to it. It too had flower boxes and an oaken door.

She wondered who took care of the flowers. Surely, not Flint. The thought made her smile. Imagining him planting flowers seemed ridiculous for some reason.

She glanced at him. “You live here?” she asked, her voice rising with disbelief.

“For now,” he answered, as he stepped up to the door and into the house. Turning, he held the door open and raised an eyebrow in question.

He wanted her to step into the house. Not go around to the back door. But through the front, where everyone could see. She looked over her shoulder to see who was watching. Maybe if she timed it right, no one would notice.

The thought of people laughing at her for entering such a home through the front door sent a chill throughout her body.

Gathering her courage, she stepped into the house, refusing to look at him less she catch any hint of mocking laughter.

She hadn’t gone two steps when she halted in place. Unable to move further.

The smells of her childhood rushed into her. The smell of wood wax her mother used on the families only table. The sweet aroma of stew with bay leaves, and rosemary.

Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t care.

The inside of the house was even more beautiful. Polished furniture. Pictures on the wall. An actual rug that covered almost the entire floor.

Laila gasped and quickly hopped to the side to stand on the hardwood less she dirty the exquisite floor covering.

Several doors off the entranceway indicated more rooms. A long staircase to the side led to the upper floors.

Laila glanced at Flint, standing there, examining her. She knew that he was watching to see how she would react. Her insides turned over, she would not give the man the pleasure of laughing at her. She could do this. She could at least pretend to do this.

Lifting her chin, she raised an eyebrow and waited. See, she could be just as domineering as him.

He laughed and shook his head. A gentle laugh, not a condescending laugh. The kind of laugh that could make a woman melt. Deep, throaty, but not mean.

Flint called out, “Mr. Sharp, Mrs. Peabody. I am home.”

A distant door opened almost immediately. A tall, lean older man and a short, round woman stepped through the door and into the entranceway.

Both of them were dressed in gray. The color of servants. He was balder than the dining room table. With a permanent frown and wary eyes.

The woman, probably in her mid-forties, had her hair up in a tight bun. Her gray cotton dress ironed and as crisp as a board.

Laila swallowed. She could tell by the quick looks they shot her way that they agreed with her in the fact that she did not belong here.

“Sharp, Mrs. Peabody. This is Laila Mason. She will be staying with us for a time.”

Both servant’s eyes opened in surprise, but they quickly brought themselves under control. Laila was impressed. Most servants would have blanched and never been able to regain their composure.

“Laila, my butler, and housekeeper. They will help you,” Flint said.

The two of them stared at her for a moment. She stared back. No way was she backing down. Focusing every bit of strength she had. She silently let them know that she didn’t care what they thought of her.

All the while, her insides rebelled. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need this.

Your dream, she reminded herself. The castle on the hill.

“Mrs. Peabody,” Flint said. “Give her a bath, burn her clothes and then we can get started.”

“What?” Laila exclaimed. “No!”

“Sir,” Mrs. Peabody said, as she stepped forward to take Laila’s arm.

Laila’s heart fell. He was just like all the rest. What was more. Now he had people to help him. To do his bidding. The thought sickened her.

Stepping back, she pulled her knife from her belt.

“No,” she said. “I told you I couldn’t be bought.”

Mrs. Peabody gave a little squeak at the sight of the knife, and then looked her in the eye, then to her employer, then back at the young woman.

Shaking her head, the housekeeper tisked, “Don’t be silly girl. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I’m telling you, stay back,” Laila said.

“Laila,” Flint said in a firm voice. “That is enough. I told you what I would do if you ever pointed that knife at me again.”

“I didn’t point it at you. I pointed it at her,” she said without taking her eyes off the woman confronting her.

“Put the knife away,” he said sharply. His voice not allowing for any discussion or argument. “Mrs. Peabody will take you to the bath.”

“What about my clothes,” Laila demanded. “I’m not walking around your house, naked.”

Mrs. Peabody looked over at him. Laila could tell that the woman thought it a reasonable question.

Flint shrugged his shoulders. “Give her one of my robes until we can get a dressmaker over here. I do not want to see her in those rags ever again.”

“Of course, sir,” the housekeeper said. “And, where should we put her after the bath?”

Laila held her breath as she waited for Flint to answer.

The big man frowned. “The guest room of course.”

Laila mentally snatched at the idea of being a guest and not a slave to this man. She knew full well that if he wanted, he could take whatever he wanted. There was little that she could do to stop him. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

“And, Laila,” Flint continued, “leave the dagger in your room. Princesses do not use such things.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. If he thought she was leaving her dagger behind, he was crazy.

“I’m not a princess yet,” she said, as she followed Mrs. Peabody up the stairs.

“And you never will be until you start acting like one,” he said after her. He then turned and walked away before she could respond.

Her hands clenched into fists. The man was insufferable.

.o0o.

Laila slowly lowered herself into the hot water. Bliss, she thought, as her shoulders sank below the water. Pure, heavenly bliss.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes and pondered all that had happened to her in such a short time. How did she get here and where was she going?

She hated not knowing what to expect. Her entire life for these last five years had depended upon her knowing what to expect. Knowing who to trust, who to avoid, and where to get her next meal.

What vendors wouldn’t chase her if she stole a fig? What days the baker might have old stale bread available.

Everything had revolved around staying hidden. Never the center of attention.

And, what of this Flint? What kind of man was he? What did he want from her? A secret thought floated just out of sight. What did she want of him?

Her mind drifted to the big man. His wide shoulders. That strong back that tapered down to a nice tight butt. Without thinking, she began to rub the soap over her skin. Slowly caressing herself as she wondered what it would be like to have Flint caress her. To run those big, powerful hands over her. To touch her down there.

She closed her eyes again and sank into the thoughts of him. Kissing him. His arms around her. The way he smelled of leather and a faint, distant mystery. The way his eyes lit up with laughter so easily. Everything about the man tore at her very soul. Driving her onward.