Huroth snarled and charged toward Thord, shoving him away from Orwenna. Her arm was wrenched painfully, and she stumbled back against the table. Thord only laughed, a wild light entering his eyes.
“What are you playing at?” Huroth demanded.
“I had to see if she tastes as good as she smells,” Thord answered, recklessly baiting Huroth. “You can’t begrudge me that. I fought in the battle that paid for her. By rights, we should all have a turn...now that you’ve broken her in.”
Huroth’s body stiffened, his face darkening with fury. He moved forward, looking as if he could happily kill Thord, on the spot.
“Please! No!” Orwenna cried, rushing between them. The last thing she wanted was a row on her first night here.
“There’s no harm done,” she insisted. “I’m fine.”
“Step out of the way,” Huroth growled. “Now!”
Orwenna quavered, sensing some part of his anger was directed at her. Surely he couldn’t blame her for what happened.
“Don’t fight over this,” she begged. “It was nothing.”
“See,” Thord taunted, “she didn’t mind. Maybe she even liked it.”
“You will not touch her again,” Huroth said, his voice low and threatening.
“Afraid she’ll prefer me?”
Huroth lunged around Orwenna, tackling Thord. They struggled briefly, but Thord’s movements were clumsy, perhaps because of the alcohol he’d consumed. In contrast, Huroth’s focus was razor sharp. He soon gained the upper hand, pinning Thord to the floor, with a knee on his chest and a knife to his throat. Orwenna hadn’t even seen him draw the blade. It all happened so quickly.
“You will not touch her,” Huroth repeated. He pressed the knife closer, lips curled back, teeth bared.
The fever left Thord’s eyes. He went limp, acknowledging Huroth’s supremacy. Perhaps he didn’t want to die after all.
“As you say,” Thord muttered. “I’ll not touch her.”
Orwenna could almost hear the other dragons’ relief. Tensed postures relaxed, and held breath was exhaled.
Huroth moved his weight off Thord, rising and stepping away slowly. He was still poised and ready for combat, but Thord didn’t try anything. The defeated dragon pushed himself to his feet and left the hall, without another word.
The rest of the meal was a blur to Orwenna. The incident had shaken her badly, and Huroth’s reaction only made matters worse. She’d expected some comfort from him, a touch or a reassuring smile, but there was nothing.
He ate in silence, staring at his food. The rest of the clan was equally subdued, their voices hushed, their eyes avoiding hers. Were they all upset with her? If so, then it was appallingly unfair. She hadn’t encouraged Thord.
With some effort, she forced herself to eat a slice of bread and a bit of roast grouse. Mountain goat would have to wait for another day. She cringed inwardly, thinking of the awkwardness of more meals with the clan. Was this what it was going to be like?
“I want to go to my quarters,” Orwenna said quietly to Huroth, keeping her composure through sheer force of will.
He nodded, immediately getting up and collecting her baggage, along with a lantern to light the upper corridors.
“This way,” he said, still not looking at her.
Orwenna followed him from the hall. As she passed Harith, he gave her an encouraging smile.
“See you tomorrow,” he said. “I hope you sleep well.”
Though she appreciated the thought, she was far too wound up for sleep. Coming to Dragonvale and putting her trust in Huroth began to look like a horrible mistake.
She followed him up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, around a bend, and up another set of steps. At last, he stopped in front of a door, set back in the bedrock.
“Here it is,” he said. “Tallok laid a fire for you earlier and banked it, so the room should be comfortable.”
“That was thoughtful of him.”
She opened the door. Huroth carried her bags in and set them against the wall. The lantern he placed on a round stone table. There were stone chairs with cushions, and a large bed covered in a patchwork quilt. Heavy floor to ceiling drapes had been drawn across the valley-facing side of the room, possibly to cover openings that would let in the night air.
Embers from the hearth filled the space with a rosy glow. At any other time, Orwenna would have found it welcoming, but right now she was heart sore and homesick. She wished she’d never left Mirra Muir.
“You’d probably like to be alone,” Huroth said, walking to the door.
Orwenna wasn’t sure if he meant it as a question or a statement. She didn’t really want to be alone, but she couldn’t face his coldness. Perhaps it was better if he left.
“Yes. I’m tired.” She turned her back to him, already feeling tears welling up in her eyes. How had this gone so wrong? Damn Thord and his ridiculous behavior. He’d ruined everything.
“Goodnight then.” Huroth said.
“Won’t you need the lantern?”
“Dragons have dark vision. The lantern was for you.”
Orwenna heard him leave, pulling the door closed behind him.
As soon as she was alone, her control crumbled. She sank down on the bed, emotions flooding her.
She curled in a tight ball, arms around her knees, rocking and crying, just as she had in childhood. This felt remarkably similar. She was still alone, still hurting from being misunderstood and overlooked.
Hadn’t she learned? It was better to be self-contained, intentionally solitary, rather than lonely and rejected. She’d spent so much time, as a child, seeking her parents’ attention and approval, only to be let down. It was a losing game. She refused to play it now, with Huroth.
Her body constricted as she wept, consumed with the old pain as well as the new. Would love never come easily to her?
Chapter Fifteen
Huroth’s mind churned with worry as he tried to eat his supper. When he’d seen Thord harassing Wen, something in him snapped. He’d felt an explosive mixture of rage and terror, realizing how fragile she was, how a dragon warrior could break her neck in an instant. Perhaps that was Thord’s goal, to show him how defenseless she was, and by extension, how vulnerable that made Huroth.
It forced him to question his choices. Was it selfish, bringing Wen to Dragonvale, exposing her to the dangers of his clan? How was she supposed to respond? She knew nothing of dragon culture.
That was obvious from the way she’d rushed between Huroth and Thord, trying to stop their fight. She had no concept of dragons’ lethal strength or the battle fury that could claim them. Placing herself in the middle of such a conflict was foolish beyond measure.
There were many ways she could have been hurt, not least of which was Thord grabbing her from behind. If he’d wanted to harm her or hold her as hostage, she had left herself wide open. The thought chilled Huroth.
Luckily, Thord was too drunk and indecisive to take advantage of the situation. That might not be true the next time. Huroth had underestimated the hostility boiling in him. It seemed more complex than grief over his brother’s death. There was also a poisonous mixture of jealousy and sexual frustration.
Abeah had long since chosen Rhourik, though Thord wanted her. Okki recently passed him over for Tallok. Now Huroth had a potential mate, leaving Thord bitter and resentful, feeling like he had nothing left to lose.
As long as Wen was at Dragonvale, Huroth would have to keep a close eye on the situation, to make sure nothing worse happened. Of course, after the current incident, her stay was likely to brief. In the morning she’d probably tell him to take her home.
Huroth grappled with this possibility as he doggedly ate mountain goat and potatoes. He barely tasted the food or registered anything else in the room, except for Wen sitting beside him, stiff and silent.
Naturally, she was angry. He’d failed to keep his word, bringing her into a frightening and combative environment. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? Had he been so distracted by pursuing Wen, so focused on winning her that he hadn’t fully considered the risks? She wasn’t a she-dragon. He could never allow himself to forget that fact.
Huroth felt out of his depth. With Neria things had been different. Their relationship was a practical partnership, formed for the sake of bearing offspring and strengthening the clan. They had been affectionate sometimes, quarrelsome oftentimes, but never deeply connected. There had not been this filling and expanding of his heart as he experienced with Wen. He wasn’t used to so much emotion, so much uncertainty. It was disorienting.
With tension from the confrontation still charging his body, Huroth led Wen to her room. He wanted to say something, to bridge the chasm between them, but he could think of nothing. Every apology or excuse seemed insufficient. It was too little too late. He should never have put her in harm’s way to begin with.
Once they arrived at her room, and he set her bags down, it was clear Wen wanted him gone. She turned her back to him, her manner cool and reserved. Huroth left, regretfully, pulling the door closed behind him.
Outside, in the corridor, he debated. She wanted to be alone, but it was imprudent to leave her unguarded. There was no telling what Thord might try, later in the night. Huroth would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
Resigned to an uncomfortable night, he settled himself outside her door, leaning his head back against the thick wood planks. That was when he heard it. The noise was faint, till he turned, pressing his ear to the door. There was no mistaking the sound of crying.
Wen was inside, miserable and alone, weeping. It tore at his heart. Consequences be damned. This was one time he couldn’t respect her privacy. He had to go in and be with her.
Carefully, he eased the door open and stepped around it. In the dim light he saw Wen huddled on the bed, oblivious to his presence. She looked so sad and lost. Huroth found he no longer needed to consider, he simply acted.
He covered the distance swiftly, taking her in his arms. She inhaled sharply at his first touch then melded herself to his body, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Sweet Wen,” he soothed, gently stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be like this. Please, let me make things right.”
She pulled back a little, looking up, as if trying to read his expression. Her crying had stopped, but her face was still wet. Huroth ran his fingers lightly across her cheeks, brushing the last tears away.
“I thought you blamed me for what happened,” she said, her eyes large and shadowed.
“No. How could I?” He spoke with vehemence, disturbed that she misunderstood so completely.
“When I tried to stop the fight, you glared at me, as if I was doing something terrible.”
“Not terrible,” he explained, “dangerous. Dragons have violent tempers, and you must never put yourself between two of us like that. It won’t protect me. It will just keep me from doing what’s needed. Thord could have snapped you in two or taken you as a hostage. That would have left me helpless. Do you see?”
“I suppose.” She retreated from him a little, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. “But you were still angry, after the fight was over. You wouldn’t speak or even look at me.”
Huroth drew a slow breath. There was nothing to do but tell her the truth of it. That much was clear. With Wen, his pride only got in the way and created more problems.
“The fight was in my blood,” he said. “It’s hard to settle down after something like that, and making it worse, I was scared. A part of me still is. I can’t abide the thought of something happening to you, and that’s not a weakness I’m familiar with. No one has ever made me feel this vulnerable.”
Wen’s eyes widened.
“If harm comes to you at Dragonvale, it will be my fault,” Huroth continued. “I couldn’t look at you at supper because I was ashamed. For the sake of my own happiness, I convinced you to leave the life you love and come here. That’s beginning to look like a selfish act, one I hope you won’t regret too much.”
“I’m regretting it less, now,” she said, placing her hand on his. “When you share your feelings, like this, it shows me I’m not alone. You’re afraid and confused too. Knowing that helps, because it builds a bond between us.”
“It’s not easy for a dragon to admit such things.”
“But it is important. I can’t trust you, if I don’t know you…the real you, inside all the spikes and armor.”
“I’m figuring that out.”
It seemed that winning Wen over, and keeping her, would require baring his soul. Such exposure went against his training. He was a dragon warrior and a clan chieftain. It was his role to be strong, certain, and dauntless. His inner fears were not to be spoken of, especially to one who relied on him for protection.
Yet he’d done that very thing, and it felt oddly liberating. Far from disappointing or alarming Wen, his honesty drew her closer. She wanted to understand him in a way no one had before, all of him, not just the face he showed the world.
Wen leaned in and kissed him, her lips like satin, her scent sweeter than lilacs. She curled fingers in his long hair, sliding nearer, her body deliciously soft and inviting. The last tension drained from Huroth, replaced by the honeyed wine of desire.
He delighted in her caresses. They kindled fire in him, at the same time making him drunk with pleasure. He could joyfully drown in the sensation, losing himself to the heady dance of their hands and mouths, their bodies drawing together like magnets.
But this wasn’t the time. She had yet to accept his proposal, and the incident with Thord would not help his case. As difficult as it was, he had to wait until she made her decision. Already the thought of giving her up was unbearable. How much worse would it be, if she carried their child in her womb?
Huroth rose, and stepped away from the bed.
“I’ll stand guard, outside the door,” he said. “So you needn’t worry about Thord or anything else.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you just stayed with me?” Wen patted the quilt. “The bed’s certainly big enough for the two of us, and that way you could get a good night’s sleep. If there’s any trouble, you’ll be here to deal with it.”
The offer seemed reasonable enough, but Huroth knew it was fraught with hazards. Holding himself back from Wen was challenging enough, without spending all night in the same bed with her.