As the doors slammed shut, Esania let out a deep, shuddering sigh. Was it possible to feel drained and angry and smug and terrified and mildly aroused, all at the same time?

Because that’s how she felt right now, with the memory of the Drakhin Lord’s touch lingering at the base of her neck, where her skin still tingled.

Surreptitiously, she ran her fingers over the area, replaying the moment in her mind’s eye. This time, his touch hadn’t been painful or forceful. He’d been gentle with her even as he’d sucked her dry.

Like a parasite.

A beautiful, terrifying parasite.

What he’d done to her was hideous, monstrous, and it defied any logical explanation. Extracting pure energy through touch?

It wasn’t even scientific. It was woo-woo stuff, straight out of the fanciful stories humans made up to entertain themselves.

And to think she’d encouraged him.

What the hell did you just do, woman?

She’d taken a risk, and it had worked… perhaps.

As she’d predicted, the Drakhin had finally come and claimed his dues. He’d pulled the raw energy out of her, drinking it in as if it were water, leaving her shivering and drained, and the look on his face…

He’d enjoyed it.

And surprisingly, so had she, up until the point where he’d taken so much energy from her that he’d pushed her body into a kind of hypothermia.

His hand on her neck had been firm, but not painful, the pads of his fingers smooth and without the scales that covered the rest of his body. When his… vortex, or whatever it was, collided with her energy, the feeling was electric.

A dark, irresistible caress.

As he’d stared down at her with those glowing catlike eyes, she’d almost felt…

Aroused?

Impossible.

That would be entering serious Stockholm Syndrome territory, and she was Primean.

She should know better.

Only humans succumbed to things like that.

Esania tucked her hands into the folds of the impossibly soft jacket, reveling in the sumptuous feel of the fabric, even as she desperately tried to get warm. The garment was incredibly well made, although it smelled slightly musty, as if it had been stored away in someone’s closet for a very long time.

Crazy Drakhin.

Leaving her here freezing, half-drained and wearing a splendid musty old jacket with a high collar and intricately patterned buttons. It could have come straight out of some history archive on Earth.

Bastard. He thinks I’m his property.

But she’d achieved what she’d set out to do.

He’d needed something from her, and instead of fighting him, she’d invited him to feed.

Doing the unexpected.

Throwing him off balance.

Making him realize how valuable she was to him, and no, he didn’t want to kill her. She was certain of that now.

Esania curled up into a ball, fighting the shivers that racked her entire body. Her feet were cold. She couldn’t even feel her toes anymore. Numb.

Numb toes, racing heart, thoughts on fire.

Was she reckless, or stupid, or both?

As weak as she was, Esania forced herself to get up out of bed and pace around on bare feet, trying to generate some warmth. The next time he appeared, she would ask the Drakhin to give her damn boots back. Still shivering, she pulled up the collar of her jacket and tucked her hands into her armpits.

Well, at least her teeth had stopped chattering.

So you’ve gone ahead and poked the big bad dragon with a stick. What are you going to do now?

She had no choice but to wait. Clearly rattled, he’d left in a huff, shooting her a dark glare as he pulled his wings tightly against his back and slammed the double doors with a vengeance. She had no way of knowing if he’d be back in a few minutes, or hours, or days, or even months.

She had no power here.

But her actions had caused a reaction in him.

Now she just had to wait and see what he would do.

After all, every action had an equal and opposite reaction, didn’t it?