Draknart expected the wee maiden to tremble with desire in his arms.

She kneed him in the groin.

“You black-hearted bastard! I’m not here for swiving! I’m here to die for my village.”

While she backed away, Draknart breathed evenly and deeply against the abrupt explosion of pain. The weakness of his cursed human form still caught him by surprise now and then, and it enraged him every time. As a dragon, he was nigh indestructible. His nightly turns as a man were a gross indignity. Although, he hadn’t minded it so much tonight—until the abrupt contact with Einin’s pointy knee.

He breathed through his nose and calmed himself before he spoke, so as not to frighten his amber-eyed maiden. “Why the rush, sweeting?”

She wore britches once again—probably to ease her journey. The hillside was steep in places, the bushes thick and thorny. He took a moment to admire her fine form. If the gods were kind, mayhap they’d see to it that britches would catch on among the young maidens and come into fashion someday. For a moment, he envisioned a world where the lasses ran around in the same tight leggings as the men, and he sighed to savor the image.

Einin eyed him with suspicion and undisguised loathing. “So you’re half man, then?”

“All the man a woman can handle and then some,” he reassured her.

Her expression only tightened. “But before, you were a dragon.”

“I am a dragon. Cursed to take human form from midnight to dawn,” he admitted his great shame. Cursed to be a halfling. ’Twas like a sickness, an insidious disease that had taken over his body. He’d spent a century searching for a cure, but to no avail.

For a moment, she only stared, then her voice grew unsure as she asked, “Old magic?”

He nodded and could smell her unease, a new layer of fear.

Her amber eyes grew wider and more luminous. She eased back another step. “To have been cursed by an ancient power… What have you done?”

Regaling her with old tales had not been among his plans for tonight. However, since she appeared disinclined to disrobe for his pleasure, and because in the slope of her shoulders he could see her exhaustion… Draknart turned and strode into the cave. “Come along.”

He resented his human form, so he didn’t indulge it. A couple of furs on the rock ledge where he slept were his only concession. He turned back before he reached that ledge, pleased that she followed.

The cave was shrouded in near darkness, but his human eyes retained the ability of his dragon vision. Einin’s hips swayed as she moved. She was well shaped, her body likely formed in fights with her brothers and in hard work. Slim but strong arms; lean but strong thighs.

She had the roundest breasts he’d ever seen. He ached to taste her, ached to have her on those furs next to him, under him. He pulled off the dragon-scale reinforced leather tunic he’d donned to dazzle her and tossed it aside, leaving only the linen shirt he wore underneath.

All for her. He rarely wore clothes at all while in his hated human form. ’Twasn’t as if he regularly entertained visitors.

She stopped a good distance from him, smartly out of reach, her jaw clenched, her loathing gaze stabbing at his heart.

Mayhap the sleeping ledge would be too soon.

He sat on a natural rock formation that resembled a throne he’d once admired in a church in a faraway city whilst eating the congregation. He’d done some of his best thinking here, in the middle of the night. He contemplated her with more attention than he’d ever given a human before. Their first meeting had not gone as he’d expected, and this second one was quickly following tradition.

She stood still and straight in the darkness of the cave, as if waiting for the executioner’s ax. When a single tear came into her eye, she quickly blinked it away. Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath, then said the most unlikely words, mumbled them to herself, but his sharp dragon hearing caught them. “I wish I were a runaway goat.”

He blinked at her. “You are a strange one.”

Her shoulders sagged as she nodded. “And twisted too.” Misery laced her tone, her fingers picking at her britches. “And unnatural. Out of the natural order.”

“No need to be too hard on yourself, sweeting. No human’s worth a spit. ’Tis the way the gods made your kind. Not your fault.”

Instead of thanking him for consoling her, she glared at him. When she glared, her fiery eyes sparkled even more. The dragon fire inside Draknart responded.

They watched each other in silence, Draknart with anticipation, Einin with her fiery resentment, likely seeing nothing more than a shadow among shadows. ’Twas that spark inside her that drew Draknart the most. How she’d fought him just a fortnight before! But now he wanted to tangle with her another way.

His body stirred. He leaned forward in his throne, ready to lift her astride his lap if she came to him. “Submit to me, Einin of Downwood.”

Her chin—managing to be delicate and stubborn at the same time—rose a notch. “I’m in your power. You have the strength to take me. But know this, Draknart, be you dragon or man, I will never submit to you willingly.”

Heat pooled in his loins at the hot flames that burned in her eyes. “You are mine, Einin, by your own pledge. I will claim your sweet body and savor it. You will plead with me not to stop.”

She rolled her eyes hard, thinking he couldn’t see her. And because he knew she couldn’t see him, he allowed himself a grin.

He let his gaze travel over her, thoroughly investigating every inch. “Take off your boots.”

“I will not disrobe for your lecherous eyes.” Her hands fisted at her sides. She was probably wishing for a weapon, regretting that she’d come unarmed.

He caught a small tremble in those hands. She was angry, but she was scared too. He meant to have her in another mood and soon. “I merely wish to see that you are not hiding any more knives.”

When she neither moved nor responded, he added, “You did have that hidden kitchen knife the last time. A longer blade, and you would have been the end of me, sweeting.”

Dragons were tough bastards as a lot, but a direct hit to the heart could be lethal if the blade was angled to slide between the scales. And the way he was now… Curse the goddess, Draknart’s human form had any number of deplorable weaknesses.

Einin lifted her chin. “I’ve given you my word. I will not fight. My life is forfeit.”

“Even so.”

With a furious frustrated growl, the likes of which he had never before heard from a maiden, she shoved off her boots and kicked them away. Her voice was pure bravado as she asked, “Satisfied?”

Not nearly so.

“Now shed your britches, sweeting. Best to make sure you have no knives stuck in the waist.”

Her full, ripe lips thinned as she pressed them together. He did not know whether her fingers trembled with fear or anger—probably a combination—but she did untie her britches, then let them drop. The worn material pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them, another step away from Draknart.

Her coarsely woven shirt hung low enough to cover her to her knees, but as she moved, he did catch a glimpse of lean, naked thighs. His body hardened. He shifted in his seat. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

“Now come to me, sweeting.”

“I have pledged to return to you,” she said, standing immobile. “I have come to the dragon’s lair. I’ve come this far, but I will go no farther.”

Blood rushed faster and faster in Draknart’s veins as he watched her, the familiar urge to take rising in his blood, and at the same time, a strange new urge to make her unafraid. She was a brave lass, but courage had limits, and she’d reached hers. Instead of grabbing her in haste as Draknart’s body demanded, he slid off the rock throne and strode to her slowly, lifted her into his arms gently, though she flailed and fought, slippery as a spring eel.

“On my dragon’s honor, I will not violate you, lass.”

At last, she stilled. Did she believe him? He happened to have meant the words, but… Had no one told her that dragons had no honor? Did humans leave their pups completely uneducated? Draknart shook his head as he carried her to his sleeping furs.

He was large, even in his despised human form, and she a slight maiden. He took care not to hold her too tightly. He also reminded himself not to rush his seduction, even if his body was hard and ready.

She was stiff as battle armor in his arms, and as cold. He looked forward to softening her and filling her body with his heat. He’d never before met a woman he wanted so much to savor.

At least, not this way.

Einin held on to her fury so she wouldn’t give in to her fear. Draknart. Even in his human form, he was a great beast.

“I’ve come for a swift end, you perverted spawn of Satan!” She scrambled away from him on the stone ledge until her back hit the cave wall. “Is a quick death too much to ask?”

He seemed intent on debauching her in the night before devouring her in the morning. And what if he did not eat her the very next morn? The blood ran out of her head at the thought. What if he kept her to torture her for who knew how long? To be at his mercy like this… Never!

The moon dipped to an angle where its silver light now shone straight into the cave, and she could see better. Draknart watched her, reclining in the middle of the “bed,” blocking her only path of escape.

The soft furs of his bedding stood in stark contrast to the man, with everything hard about him. She fought to keep her gaze above his chest. He was larger than any of the men in her village, made entirely of muscle, the thick cords bunching and relaxing under his shirt as he shifted closer.

“No!” She snapped out the word, holding up her hands, palms out, to ward him off.

She didn’t truly expect him to obey, but he stopped and stayed where he was. Then he said, with exaggerated patience, “Einin, sweeting. I am a man, for the moment. You are a woman…”

“I have come to die. Not for…that!”

Yet his words echoed in her head. I am a man. And then a thought formed in her overwrought mind, one that brought a small spark of unexpected hope. Must be easier to kill a man than a dragon.

She held her breath. She had not come here to kill the beast. She had given up that hopeless fantasy after the first try, but…if she could succeed now under these different circumstances… If she killed the dragon… She still couldn’t go back to her village, but… Could she claim his cave as her own?

The thoughts followed each other in rapid succession, while Einin tried to keep up, tried to imagine a possible future for herself instead of certain death.

She’d never had anything of her own. The hut in the village had been her father’s. She lived in it, but had she married Wilm, the hut would have become Wilm’s property the moment they wed. The dragon’s cave, on the other hand…

Einin’s heart had been racing already, but now it raced faster. A place of her own. Maybe she’d be safe here, living as a hermit. Safe from predators, for certain. No bear or wolf would come to a cave that smelled of dragon. And with some luck, there might not be another natural disaster in the villages for decades, no reason for the priest to bring another procession this way.

The back of the cave would be warm enough in winter, as long as she had fire. She could gather berries and eggs in the forest and trap rabbits and squirrels and birds—a slim chance, but a chance, her first true hope for survival.

If she could kill the dragon…

But how?

She had no weapon, but the clutter of the cave floor hid a number of old swords and daggers. She needed something longer than a kitchen knife, something that still held a sharp edge.

Draknart shifted closer. When her hands came up again, her palms touched against his hard chest. His body was warm, not hot, yet it seemed to burn her even through the fabric of his shirt. She snatched her hands back.

Time. She needed to play for time until she found the right weapon. So she didn’t shout at him again. She didn’t call him names. She didn’t even curse him.

He smiled. His dragon smile had been fearsome. This smile… His lips stretched over white teeth. This smile sucked all the air out of the cave.

She gasped. He had to be the devil’s own, for certain. Hadn’t the priest warned the village about just that? She dragged her gaze over him, looking for the signs: hoofed feet and horns, but he didn’t have either. Yet he was far more than the men of the village. Her gaze hesitated on his thick arms, his thick thighs.

“Only when you’re ready.” His voice rumbled along her skin.

She pressed her back against the wall. “Never.”

Her gaze fell on his large hands. They wouldn’t be farmer hands, of course. She was suddenly aware of her own calluses, of the dirt under her fingernails. Were his hands soldier hands, then? Used to wielding a sword? Probably not that either. He could fight as a dragon. Why would he fight as a man? But he did have strong hands, and her gaze hesitated on them.

“Only when you ask.” His voice filled with dark promises.

He slowly reached for her and drew a single finger down the middle of her shirt, between her breasts, from her neck to right above her belly button. He stopped there, his heavy gaze fast upon her face.

She could feel the warmth of that single fingertip through the roughly woven cloth, and a slow, insidious heat spread across her skin inch by inch. Nay. Nay. Nay.

She feared the dragon, but she loathed the black knight. The dragon could devour her. But the knight… The knight was the more dangerous of the two. She couldn’t look away from his eyes as the bottomless dark pools swirled with fire.

He dipped his head and nipped her lower lip.

“Yield to me,” he whispered.

He caressed, nibbled, and tasted. He suffused her with heat, sending strange sensations through her that made her dizzy. And when she opened her mouth to protest, he delved in.

Oh!

His tongue was hot, insistent, and wicked. The buzzing sensation in her mind spread to the rest of her body. The heat that originated in him began to fill her, spreading all the way to the ends of her limbs.

His large hand came up to her throat. The pad of his thumb rested against her frantically beating pulse before he moved his long fingers down to work the wooden buttons on her shirt.

She tore her lips from his to draw air. “Nay!”

He stilled, dark storm clouds crashing in his gaze, his wicked lips curving into a smile of utter male arrogance.

“You wish for more love play.” He took her lips again.

She was to have no time to search for an old blade, Einin realized, and grabbed for the nearest chunk of loose rock she could lift. To distract the man, she pressed her lips tightly to his. Now!

He must not have been as distracted as she’d hoped, because he disarmed her easily and threw the rock clear across the cave. In fact, he kissed her with even more fervor, even more thoroughly, leaving her gasping.

“Maybe later, if you still wish, we can spar a bit,” he offered with an indulgent smile when he finally pulled back. Then he sighed, as if the thought filled him with satisfaction. “Aye, but you’re a fine wee lass.”

Einin stared at him, overwhelmed by the strange realization that he didn’t altogether mind her attempts on his life. She had no time to entertain the revelation, however, as he kissed her again.

Oh.

Her mind buzzed louder, then her body burned. No village boy had ever kissed her like this. Wilm’s few forceful, slobbering attempts paled. She’d forgotten them by the time the bruises on her shoulders faded.

Now Einin felt like her skin was too tight, her body swollen, especially the part between her legs, to the point where the sensation could no longer be borne. Then Draknart dragged his torturous lips to her neck, and a new aching wave of need washed over her. By the time he made his way to her ear, licking and nibbling every nook and cranny then, gasp, sucked her earlobe into his mouth, she was near certain she was going to die, that this was some ancient dragon magic with which he meant to kill her.

“Submit to me, Einin,” he rasped into her ear, his hot breath sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

Every ounce of strength she had was needed to produce a weak “Nay.”