Kiss of Danger (The Dragon Legion Novellas) by Deborah Cooke Page A
Authors: Deborah Cooke
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and screamed in frustration.
Because he’d not only possessed Cetos’ wife, but he’d attacked the man in his own home. He’d burned Cetos with dragonfire and left him writhing on the ground.
Homes should be sanctuaries and not be filled with violence. There was no doubt that Cetos shouldn’t have struck Katina, but still Alexander had been wrong to take vengeance for that in the man’s own home.
What price would he be compelled to pay for his transgression? Alexander feared it might be more years of service. He could lose all the promise brought by the darkfire, because of his own impulsive choice. All the same, he couldn’t have done anything differently. He couldn’t have stood back and watched Katina be beaten. He didn’t even regret that Cetos was dead.
But Alexander did regret that he would have to pay for his crime, for he feared it would cost him all that he had been poised to regain.
How could he leave Katina again?
How could he ever win her love and trust, if he couldn’t pledge to stay with her?
Why had he been sent back to this time, if not to be united with his mate?
* * *
Cetos could smell roasted meat with sickening clarity and only gradually realized that he was the meat that had been roasted. His body was consumed by pain, scorching hot pain that drove all thought from his mind. The slaves had drenched him in water, and now knelt beside him, but he couldn’t answer their questions.
“Step aside,” commanded a man, and Cetos nearly fainted at the accented voice.
The rich foreign merchant.
The one he had to disappoint.
Of course, the merchant had arrived as arranged, in order to collect the boy. Even though he couldn’t keep the bargain, Cetos didn’t want to return those gold coins.
He also didn’t want to tell the merchant the truth.
There was something terrifying about this foreigner, something Cetos had found easy to dismiss when the man had offered him so many coins. Now, he recalled the strange cold blue of the foreigner’s eyes and the yellow gold of his very short hair. Such coloring was seldom seen in these parts, so seldom that it seemed unreal. The merchant had spoken in an odd way too, impatient and quick, and his choice of words had made him even harder to understand.
And there’d been something else. Something Cetos didn’t want to remember.
He kept his eyes closed and pretended to be oblivious to all around him. He heard the slaves move away and felt the attention of the merchant bent upon him. Yes, that was part of it. The stillness. The focus. The intensity—as if the stranger could read Cetos’ very thoughts. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right. Men couldn’t be so still as this. Cetos could have sworn that the merchant knew he had a son before the question was even asked.
He wondered again if the merchant was a deity in disguise, a god come to walk amongst men for some purpose of his own.
To collect young boys, perhaps.
Why had he wanted to buy Lysander? It was too late to ask.
Cetos’ heart pounded as that man walked around him, the soles of his sandals very close, then bent over Cetos.
Cetos heard him sniff.
The sound so startled Cetos that he shuddered involuntarily. His eyelids flickered, too, revealing that he was conscious. He had time to hope that the merchant hadn’t noticed, then the visitor chuckled.
It was as terrifying a sound as Cetos recalled. Cold. Merciless. As if the merchant enjoying injuring others and took pleasure in pain.
“Where is the boy?” the stranger demanded in his oddly accented speech. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our bargain?”
There was something about the merchant’s voice that made Cetos want to respond, something that compelled him to try. It was an enchanting voice, so melodious and musical. He looked up and saw once more the flames dancing in the blue eyes of the merchant.
He’d seen those flames before when he’d talked to this very same man, although he hadn’t wanted to
Because he’d not only possessed Cetos’ wife, but he’d attacked the man in his own home. He’d burned Cetos with dragonfire and left him writhing on the ground.
Homes should be sanctuaries and not be filled with violence. There was no doubt that Cetos shouldn’t have struck Katina, but still Alexander had been wrong to take vengeance for that in the man’s own home.
What price would he be compelled to pay for his transgression? Alexander feared it might be more years of service. He could lose all the promise brought by the darkfire, because of his own impulsive choice. All the same, he couldn’t have done anything differently. He couldn’t have stood back and watched Katina be beaten. He didn’t even regret that Cetos was dead.
But Alexander did regret that he would have to pay for his crime, for he feared it would cost him all that he had been poised to regain.
How could he leave Katina again?
How could he ever win her love and trust, if he couldn’t pledge to stay with her?
Why had he been sent back to this time, if not to be united with his mate?
* * *
Cetos could smell roasted meat with sickening clarity and only gradually realized that he was the meat that had been roasted. His body was consumed by pain, scorching hot pain that drove all thought from his mind. The slaves had drenched him in water, and now knelt beside him, but he couldn’t answer their questions.
“Step aside,” commanded a man, and Cetos nearly fainted at the accented voice.
The rich foreign merchant.
The one he had to disappoint.
Of course, the merchant had arrived as arranged, in order to collect the boy. Even though he couldn’t keep the bargain, Cetos didn’t want to return those gold coins.
He also didn’t want to tell the merchant the truth.
There was something terrifying about this foreigner, something Cetos had found easy to dismiss when the man had offered him so many coins. Now, he recalled the strange cold blue of the foreigner’s eyes and the yellow gold of his very short hair. Such coloring was seldom seen in these parts, so seldom that it seemed unreal. The merchant had spoken in an odd way too, impatient and quick, and his choice of words had made him even harder to understand.
And there’d been something else. Something Cetos didn’t want to remember.
He kept his eyes closed and pretended to be oblivious to all around him. He heard the slaves move away and felt the attention of the merchant bent upon him. Yes, that was part of it. The stillness. The focus. The intensity—as if the stranger could read Cetos’ very thoughts. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right. Men couldn’t be so still as this. Cetos could have sworn that the merchant knew he had a son before the question was even asked.
He wondered again if the merchant was a deity in disguise, a god come to walk amongst men for some purpose of his own.
To collect young boys, perhaps.
Why had he wanted to buy Lysander? It was too late to ask.
Cetos’ heart pounded as that man walked around him, the soles of his sandals very close, then bent over Cetos.
Cetos heard him sniff.
The sound so startled Cetos that he shuddered involuntarily. His eyelids flickered, too, revealing that he was conscious. He had time to hope that the merchant hadn’t noticed, then the visitor chuckled.
It was as terrifying a sound as Cetos recalled. Cold. Merciless. As if the merchant enjoying injuring others and took pleasure in pain.
“Where is the boy?” the stranger demanded in his oddly accented speech. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our bargain?”
There was something about the merchant’s voice that made Cetos want to respond, something that compelled him to try. It was an enchanting voice, so melodious and musical. He looked up and saw once more the flames dancing in the blue eyes of the merchant.
He’d seen those flames before when he’d talked to this very same man, although he hadn’t wanted to
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