Tears of the Dragon (6 page)

The bed was also comfortable.

It was her own body she was uncomfortable
with. She was sensible enough to realize that giving the appearance
of malleability was probably the safest thing she could do in her
current circumstances. She was cool headed enough to present the
facade of doing so, but the customs here boggled her conservative
mind. Inside, she cringed at being the next thing to naked--around
a man, no less. More than that, it made her aware of her own
sexuality in a way she never had been, nor had ever particularly
wished to be.

She was entirely certain that she would’ve
been uncomfortable if she’d been completely alone. Damien
Bloodragon magnified her awareness to such a degree that she had
felt unnerved, jittery, and fragile even after he’d left her, at
last, to herself. The most shockingly indecent dreams had plagued
her throughout the night. As much as she’d always prided herself on
her imagination, she couldn’t even begin to guess where the images
had come from.

Naturally, she wasn’t a complete innocent.
She was an educated woman. She had a working knowledge of the
mechanics of human copulation even though she hadn’t actually
experimented with it. She wasn’t even completely ignorant of the
mating ritual that led up to it. She’d been kissed before--several
times. The first time, she’d actually encouraged her beau to do so.
It had even been rather pleasant to begin with. In the end it had
been a disappointment, however, and she’d certainly not felt any
great need to repeat the experiment. Others had tried, but after
she’d soundly boxed their ears they’d learned to control their
baser instincts around her.

She had dreamed of far more than a few
chaste kisses, however! In fact, they hadn’t been chaste at all,
but rather downright carnal. She should have been as shocked and
disgusted with the dream as she had been when her beau had stuck
his tongue down her throat. Instead, in her dreams, she had
welcomed
his kisses--encouraged
him!

She’d dreamed of his hands, too. She was
fairly certain that part, at least, had been brought on by the way
he’d stroked her face, although, to be honest with herself, just
looking at those big hands of his made her heart flutter--except it
wasn’t her face he was stroking in her dreams.

She had an uncomfortable suspicion that she
was going to have a hard time looking him in the eye the next time
she saw him.

Frowning at the thought, she rose from the
bed and went into the bath to perform her morning ritual. When
she’d finished, she studied the pile of rags she’d discarded the
night before and finally decided to wash them. Perhaps she could
get a needle and thread and mend it? The clothing was ruined of
course, and she doubted a magical seamstress could mend it in a way
that would make it at all presentable, but it at least covered her
nakedness.

When she emerged sometime later, she felt
marginally better and crossed the room to the wall Damien had
opened the night before, deciding she would see if she could
discover something she might wear that didn’t leave her feeling so
exposed, so … wanton.

After all that had happened, she supposed
she shouldn’t have been surprised when the wall merely slid
soundlessly open as she stopped before it, but she was. Immediately
distracted from her goal, she stepped away. The panel slid
closed.

Maybe, she decided, there was some sort of
latch on the floor? A weight and pulley system? She felt around
with her foot, but noticed nothing through the thick carpet.
Finally, she got down on her hands and knees, pressing a palm into
the carpet in search of a depression or lump that might support her
theory.

“
Lose something?”

Khalia’s head snapped up of its own
volition, twisting toward his voice so quickly a bone cracked in
her neck. Damien was standing in the doorway, staring at her
fixedly. His gaze wasn’t riveted to her face, however. Resisting
the urge to cover her posterior with her hand, Khalia scrambled to
her feet. “What? Oh. No … uh.…” She found that she was very
reluctant to tell him she’d never seen doors like those here and
that she’d been trying to figure out how it worked. Pride might
goeth before a fall, but she hated admitting complete ignorance
about anything. “I was just curious about the fiber the carpet was
made of. It doesn’t really feel like cotton … or wool either.”

His brows rose, but he apparently decided
not to comment on her strange behavior. “Shall I assist you?”

“
Assist me?” Khalia asked
weakly.

He nodded toward the panel.

“
Oh. No. I believe I can manage …
thank you.”

“
I have brought your breakfast,” he
said. Bowing, he turned and left.

Khalia’s shoulders slumped. Turning, she
activated the panel and stood staring at the wardrobe for several
moments before she began digging for something to wear. A half hour
later she accepted the futility of finding anything she felt
remotely comfortable about and simply dragged out a couple of
pieces of teal colored, gauzy fabric and tossed them onto the bed.
Either everything in the armoire was night wear, or this was as
much as any of them ever wore.

The outfit she’d chosen wasn’t quite as
sheer as the ‘nightgown’ Damien had chosen for her to sleep in, but
it didn’t miss it by much. Holding them up, she examined the two
pieces. One looked rather a lot like a veil, or perhaps a kerchief
for her hair. The other looked a good bit like the ‘gown’ she was
wearing except that it had a drawstring at one end and no other
ties. It was also considerably shorter than the gown she was
wearing which ‘modestly’ brushed her ankles.

It was unfortunate that she hadn’t seen a
female since she’d arrived. It would’ve been a good deal easier to
figure these things out if she had. Shrugging, she tossed the gown
off and pulled the ‘dress’ over her head. It was only open on one
side, which seemed really odd. Was she supposed to wear it like a
cape, she wondered? Or tie it on one side? Finally, she shifted it
around until she had one arm free of the fabric and picked up the
matching piece. It, too, had a drawstring at one end. It was a very
short drawstring, however, too short to tie it under her chin.
Finally, she simply tied it in a bow and set it on top of her head
like a coronet, with the veil hanging over her hair. She was still
trying to figure out what to do with the two ties on the sides when
Damien, apparently having decided she had taken too long, entered
the room once more.

The look on his face made her want to hit
him.

With an obviously strenuous effort, he
curbed his amusement and strode toward her. Without a word, he
untied the drawstring at her shoulder, pulled the ‘cape’ off and
wrapped the skirt around her waist, tying it at one side. Khalia
blushed to the roots of her hair, so mortified tears stung her eyes
as he moved around behind her. Removing the ‘veil’, he gathered her
hair and draped it over one shoulder, then placed the top over her
breasts, tying the short tie around her neck. He then took the ties
she hadn’t been able to figure out what to do with and tied them in
back, just below her shoulder blades. Stepping away from her, he
dug in the armoire and returned with something that looked a lot
like the thing he wore over his genitals, except that it was a
wedge in the front, rather than bag-like. Kneeling, he stretched
the thing out, waiting. After a moment, Khalia, dying of
embarrassment, placed her hands on his shoulders and stepped into
the thing, closing her eyes tightly as he pulled it up and adjusted
it.

When he’d finished, she drew a shuddering
breath and stepped away from him. He caught her arm when she
would’ve left the room. She resisted, but she didn’t want to get
into a tussle and yielded readily enough, though reluctantly, when
his grip tightened. He moved closer. Tucking an index finger
beneath her chin, he forced her to look up at him.

The tears gathered in her eyes made it
impossible to read his expression, not that she wanted to. She
lifted her chin another notch to avoid his touch. He frowned,
touching the tiny bead of moisture on one cheek. “What is
this?”

She flushed, though not so heatedly as
before. Instead of answering, she glared at him. “Don’t taunt me.
Isn’t it enough that you embarrassed me?”

If she’d slapped him, she didn’t think he
could’ve looked more surprised or taken aback. “It wasn’t my
intention to do either, princess,” he said gruffly.

She wasn’t certain she believed him. On the
other hand, the words had no sooner left her mouth than it occurred
to her that she’d embarrassed herself. By not being able to figure
out how the garments were supposed to be worn, she’d made herself
look foolish. She sighed. Her menses, she decided, must be imminent
for her to be so sensitive as to blow the situation all out of
proportion. Ordinarily, she would probably have laughed herself.
She would’ve still been embarrassed, but she would’ve been able to
see the humor in it.

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