Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (8 page)

She hoped he would leave then, hearing the finality in her words and attitude. She hoped, but she did not expect. He hadn't become governor by taking no for an answer. Still, it was with considerable surprise that she felt his touch on her shoulder. She had not heard him approach, and with her dragon-enhanced senses, she should have.

But she hadn't, and so she was surprised when she felt his warmth on her shoulder and smelled his scent surround her. It was a clean scent, not polluted with perfumes or the spices of necromancers. Soap. Fish from the docks. And man. The very same scent that he had left on her skin yesterday when he held her, the one that had surrounded her as she slept last night, and the one that caused a pooling of liquid in her bones. She didn't understand it, and she didn't want it. Especially since she most certainly liked it. What was happening to her that she actually liked a man's touch? A man's scent?

"Natiya—"

"Don't!" she ground out as she shrugged him off her shoulder. "Don't hurt me like this."

"I'm trying to help you," he spat, and she could tell by his frustration that he meant it. "You have held off Dag Racho for now, but he will come for you. He has already begun questioning and torturing all those with ties to the old scholars. He will come for you eventually. He is desperate."

His words sent shivers down her spine, but that did not stop her words. "Then he should not have killed—"

"The scholars. Yes, he knows. But that doesn't help you now, does it?"

She shook her head, drawing her arms tight around her belly. "What do you want from me?"

"The hatching grounds, Natiya. Where are they? We know the dragons left their clutches in the caves all along the coastline, but we cannot find them."

"Maybe they don't exist."

He laughed, the sound bitter and hard. "He doesn't believe that. And what Dag Racho believes, he will find a way to prove." Though she had stepped away from the governor, she felt his hands return to her shoulders. Two hands this time, slowly sliding down her arms, drawing her backward against him. His touch was gentle and comforting, and it soothed her fears.

She wanted to push him away, needed to stay distant from his touch, his scent, even the sound of his voice, but she couldn't. Or rather, she didn't. She liked the man's touch. She enjoyed the feel of large, callused hands gently caressing her. And even if she didn't, the egg certainly did.

Of all the dangers inherent in her task, this was surely the worst: the egg's insatiable curiosity. Natiya had never felt a man's arms around her before, not with such care and tenderness. She had never experienced it before, and so the egg demanded that she succumb to it, sending wave after wave of desire coursing through her.
Experience this
, it whispered into her mind.
Allow this.

So she did. And worse, the governor began speaking, his words like tiny pebbles dropped one by one into her heart, causing ripples to echo throughout her entire body.

"You are not the only one to lose your family. The Emperor killed mine as well. Dag Jaseen was my cousin."

Her body jolted in shock. He was related to Dag Jaseen, the last dragonborn to challenge their ruler? The battle was said to have lasted days, but in the end, Dag Jaseen had lost. "But Dag Racho ordered all Jaseen's kin executed."

She felt him nod, his chin moving lightly against her temple. "All save one. His youngest cousin, who would be raised in the Racho court to serve as a reminder of what happens to any who challenge the Emperor."

"You?" she asked.

"Me." She felt a shudder flow through him into her, and she wondered at its cause. Was he remembering his cousin's death? The loss of his great family? Or perhaps he recalled the bitter aftermath when all he knew and loved was gone, and he became the plaything of an evil court.

It will not happen to us. We will win.

Natiya closed her eyes, knowing that the egg merely repeated what she had said to it so many times. They would not lose. They would destroy Dag Racho and his evil forever. And yet, she knew Dag Jaseen had thought exactly the same thing.

Suddenly the memories and the fears became too much. Spinning around in his arms, she shoved at his chest with all her strength. Caught unawares, the governor stumbled backward. But true to his athleticism, he did not move far.

"Why do you serve him?" she demanded, hating the way her voice trembled with the question. "He is evil and cruel. He killed your family! And yet you serve him with all your strength. Why?"

"For the same reason you dance for drunken louts night after night. Because I have to. Because he is stronger, and I am weaker, and this is the only way I can survive."

"By doing his bidding like a lapdog? By killing the very people who could save us from him?"

The governor's eyes darkened to granite. His voice sounded clipped and hard. "Have a care, dancer," he warned. "You speak treason."

"He killed your family!"

"And he will kill you if I do not find those caves. My parents are dead. So are yours. Now, do you wish to live or not?"

She stared at him. Truly, she was tempted. She knew where the clutch caves were located. She'd walked to them at least a dozen times with her parents. And one more time alone, after their deaths. She knew as well that the most valuable egg—the queen egg—was gone from the caves, for she held it tight in her navel. What would it hurt if she gave this man what he wanted? He would search the caves and find nothing.

She shook her head. "I know nothing," she lied. In truth, she knew that once she gave the tiniest bit of information, Dag Racho would hound her until her death. He had done it to others—other scholars, friends of her parents, even students. Paranoia ruled the Emperor. Thus, paranoia was the only way to survive in Ragona. It was best if she kept silent.

As if guessing her thoughts, the governor sighed, reaching out with a single hand to stroke her cheek. "Do not lie to me, Natiya. I am trying to help."

"You are saving your position and your life."

He shrugged. "That, too. But I truly am trying to make things better. For all of us."

"I know nothing," she repeated. "I was a child interested in dolls, not silly stories about dragons."

His hand fell heavily to his side, and yet she still felt his strokes as a tingling across her cheeks. "He will come for you. Soon. I will not be able to stop him. Think beyond the present moment."

She felt her legs go out from under her, collapsing her backward against the washstand. "Should I run?" she wondered aloud.

"Where would you go?"

She bit her lip. Nowhere—she had nowhere to go. She could not even risk trusting Uncle Rened, for the wealthy merchant had great ties to the Racho court. And after the insult she had dealt him last night, he would quite likely turn her over to the Emperor simply to buy court favor. No, she had nowhere to go.

"Stay with me," the governor urged. "We can search your memories together. Maybe there is something you have forgotten. Something that would show the Emperor that you are trying to help. That you are no threat."

"I don't help murderers."

He sighed. "Do you know any other way to survive?" He reached forward, clasping her hands in his. "When the soldiers come—and they will come—what else can you do?"

She shook her head and reluctantly withdrew her hands from his. "Quite likely die, for I know nothing." She searched his face, looking for some hope, some answer different from the future he had already described.

Why do you look to him for hope? Aren't we the only hope?

She didn't know how to answer the egg, especially since it was right. She would get no help from this man. As governor and Dag Racho's dragon-hunter, he was the last person she would ever trust. So she walked away from him, dropping wearily onto her pallet.

"I must dance tonight, and I can't do that unless I get some more sleep. Thank you for the breakfast, Governor. I am sorry I cannot help you further."

He didn't say anything at first, merely watched her with an infinitely sad expression etched onto his face. Then, eventually, his shoulders dropped the tiniest fraction and she knew she had won.

"Contact me," he said softly. "If you think of anything or need any help, send me a message. I will help you any way I can."

To which she could only reply, "Thank you."

"It will not be enough," he warned. "Not unless you take the initiative. Do not let Dag Racho find you first. Otherwise, he will always believe you're hiding something."

"I'm not," she repeated wearily, desperately trying to suppress her fear.

"But he will not believe you. And he is the ruler of this land." The governor paused, as if waiting for her to change her mind. She almost did. He looked so kind, his expression so sad, that she was tempted despite all logic. But before she could make up her mind, he spun on his heel and left.

* * *

Natiya knew he watched her dance.

She would have known he was there even if he hid himself in the back room and watched from one of the darkened alcoves. But he had not. Talned had walked him to the center front table, chatting up the new governor as much as he dared. But apparently the dragonhunter wasn't very talkative, for Talned soon slunk away. Monik had equally little success, for it seemed the man wasn't very hungry either. She served him a bitter dakla and watched him from the sidelines as he nursed his drink and kept his attention on the curtain. It was as if he knew Natiya stood right behind it, watching him.

Perhaps he did. Perhaps he felt the same itch on his skin that she felt on hers. Perhaps her scent followed him, clinging to his clothing and hair, just as his scent tormented her. And perhaps her words, her attitude, her very image had rooted in his thoughts just as he stood like a large statue within hers. Indeed, she could barely think without bumping into him.

Should she eat before work? The pokoti he'd brought her for breakfast still lingered on her tongue.

Did she have enough money to pay rent and buy thread to fix her costume? He had nice clothing and lots of coins to buy food. What would it hurt if she allowed him to spend some of it on her?

Was Dag Racho truly rounding up all the people connected with dragon lore? Or had that been said simply to frighten her, to gain power over her?

And why did she like it that the governor made his interest in her so obvious? That he sat at the center table, clearly waiting for her? Why was she so illogical as to thrill at this tangible draw between them when she needed to keep quiet, remain hidden, disappear in darkness only to rise again with dragon fire? She could soon burn evil from the world, if only she remained hidden a little longer. A year, maybe two...

She had no answer, and in truth, she discovered she did not need one. The feelings were real, her attraction nearly overwhelming. She knew the egg enhanced her hunger, wanting to experience these new sensations, these new feelings. So the why of her choices didn't matter. Only the what.

What would she do now? Trust him with useless secrets—tell him the location of the clutch caves—in the hope of fooling Dag Racho that she gave over everything? Or say nothing, run from her attraction, and continue as if the governor had never spoken to her, never seen her, never tempted her with his words? What would she do?

She would dance.

That's all. Dance. Move. And certainly not decide. Not until later when she had time and space to sort through things. For now, she danced.

Except, it wasn't her usual dance. Her usual dance began with the beat flowing through her body until her heart picked up the tempo and the pace and the purpose of the music. But this time she felt a second beat—not just from the drums. She felt his heartbeat, his tempo, his power. And when she merged with the music, he was there as well, adding another layer to her movements, another reason for her dance.

His reason. His purpose. His presence.

She danced for him and for his seduction; there was no other way to define it. Where before she had danced for herself, for the simple joy of creating form and movement out of sound, now she danced for him, stretching her body toward him, pulling her shoulders up and away to tease him, arching her back to tempt him. And when the beat increased, so did his breath. When the music swelled, so did he. And she. Until with a final crash of cymbals, she collapsed at his feet, breathless, ecstatic, and completely overwhelmed by what she had done.

So, too, was he, for they looked at one another in mutual shock and hunger, and something she could not define.

"Well, well," drawled Monik from the side. "Little Natiya grows up."

"No," she gasped, startled by her own vehemence. She didn't want to feel lust or passion, didn't want to care for any man, woman, or child. Loved ones died, leaving her lost and alone except for the egg. But her thoughts were drowned out by the explosion of noise from the other customers. All about the room coins were drawn out of purses and pockets, hefted aloft, waved in frenzied demand. Where before they would simply have thrown them toward her, now patrons held them out, asking her to come to them, to take the coins herself.

She shook her head in confusion. They had never acted this way before. For some of the other dancers, yes. Monik, certainly. But not for her. And now she did not know what to do.