He gripped the door hard, suddenly tempted to punch a fist through it. “I see.” She’d kissed him and wanted no more of him.
Crap! He strode into his dressing room and slammed the door behind him. A glance down at his breeches confirmed he no longer needed a cold bath. He’d been thoroughly rejected, so his problem was quickly shriveling away.
And his heart was hurting.
“Dammit.” He stalked into his bedchamber. A pain shot through his heart, and he pressed a hand against his chest.
By the Light, he didn’t want her to leave in a week. He didn’t want her to ever leave.
He collapsed in a chair. Usually, his half-dragon heart made him stronger, healthier, and more formidable in battle. But with Gwennore, it was having the opposite effect.
For rule number two stated that a dragon could love fiercely, but if his heart was broken, he would feel the pain with an equally fierce intensity.
He rubbed his chest. The pain was bearable at this point, but the fact that it was there could only mean one thing.
He was falling in love.
* * *
Gwennore paused in the doorway of her dressing room, studying the closed door that led to Silas’s suite. There was a small part of her that wanted to be brave and fling that door wide open. But another part, a larger part, wanted to run back home to her sisters.
She was a coward after all.
With a sigh, she trudged toward her bed. What was she doing here? She was so far from home, all alone in a foreign country where most people saw her as an enemy and a wanton woman who could kill her lover in his sleep. She’d been poisoned, attacked by trolls, and propositioned by a man she wasn’t sure was even human.
But holy goddesses, he could definitely kiss.
She wrapped her arms around a bedpost and closed her eyes, letting herself remember for a few minutes just how glorious the kiss had been. It had encompassed her, enveloped her, entranced her.
All her worries and suspicions had melted away with the heat of his embrace and the soothing timbre of his deep voice, and for a few precious minutes, she had felt absolutely certain that he was human. His voice, his lips, his shoulders, his hair, the whiskers along his jaw—it had all felt completely human. And totally male. Didn’t the bulge in his breeches prove he was undeniably a man?
But his sudden desire to bed her had given her such a shock that all her doubts had come crashing back. How could she become the lover of a man who might not be a man?
The room spun around her for a few seconds, and she hugged the bedpost to keep her balance. Then a pain shot across her brow, reminding her that the poison was still in her body. She glanced at the pink area on her forearm. The verna leaves she had placed there had washed away in the rushing stream. She ought to get dressed and fetch more leaves from the garden, but she felt too drained right now to do any more work.
With a groan, she crawled into bed. As she lay her head on a pillow, she realized this was where Silas had rested last night. She nuzzled her nose against the linen, hoping to catch a whiff of the cedar-scented soap he used.
You’re hopeless. She rolled onto her back and stared at the red velvet canopy overhead. How could she long for him when she wasn’t sure who or what he was? How could she yearn for him when she was never sure if he was being completely honest with her?
If only her sisters were here. They would listen to her, comfort her. The Song of Mourning came to her mind, the rhythm pounding in time with the throbbing pain in her head.
My true love lies in the ocean blue. My true love sleeps in the sea. Whenever the moons shine over you, please remember me.
My lonesome heart is torn in two. My grief runs deep as the sea. Whenever the waves roll over you, please remember me. Please remember me.
Tears burned her eyes. Oh, how she missed her sisters! What would they say if she told them she suspected Silas and Puff were one and the same?
As the oldest and most responsible, Luciana would warn her to proceed with caution. Trust no one but herself.
Brigitta would tell her to throw caution out the window and follow her heart. Gwennore smiled to herself, imagining Brigitta turning Silas into a dashing hero in one of her dramatic stories.
Maeve would find her suspicions wildly exciting. After all, she shifted into a seal every month. And she was very fond of Brody when he was in the guise of a dog. She’d have no trouble believing Silas could be a shifter.
But a dragon shifter? How could that be possible? Dragons were so much bigger than humans. And they could breathe fire. When Silas had first kissed her, Gwennore had panicked for a moment, remembering the burst of fire that Puff had used at the lake to force the trolls to retreat.
That would be Sorcha’s reaction, too. Gwennore could imagine her sister fussing at her. “You think he’s a fire-breathing dragon and you kissed him? Are you crazy? He could have set your innards ablaze!”
She had felt inflamed, but in an entirely different way. Gwennore covered her face as heat rushed to her cheeks. Why had she kissed him when she’d been afraid it wasn’t safe?
Afterward, she’d blamed it on curiosity, or on a need to prove he was human. But the truth had been very simple.
She’d wanted her first kiss to be from Silas.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she angrily brushed it away. The relationship couldn’t happen. He was heir to the throne, and no one in Norveshka would ever accept an elf for their queen. She wasn’t being a coward. She was simply being realistic. It
