Page 7 of A Kiss From a Dragon Lord

The inside of the house is warm. Everything is cast in a golden glow by the roaring fireplace. Fine china and silver goblets decorate an ornately carved wooden table with matching wooden chairs. There are fine paintings and tapestries that line the walls that would normally snag my attention first. However, I can’t help but compare their brilliance to Anwyn’s.

Now that I have glimpsed the rarest jewel, all other treasures are as unremarkable as tin by comparison.

What does capture my attention is the wide assortment of bottled wines decorating the far wall. Reds, whites, sparkling…I wonder what kind is Anwyn’s favorite? I shall have to get her a variety and see.

The smell of roasting meats wafts toward me, making my mouth water. The closest I’ve come to cooking in years was charing the animals I killed with some of my flames. However, this roasted chicken looks beautifully prepared. Garnished with whipped potatoes and green beans, the hardy meal should provide my Anwyn with enough sustenance for all the things I want to do with her.

My cock hardens even further as I break from those thoughts. I must stay focused on getting her food and less on getting her naked even if it is the most difficult thing I have ever done.

The home below me is quiet. I watch as a servant in simple wool clothes makes a plate from the roast and sides dishes cooking over the fire. With shaking hands, he walks the plate back over to the table and sets it down at a place setting. The goblet of wine sitting there is filled with dark red wine.

It isn’t long until the hinges of the old wooden door creak open. A new scent enters the home, and I peer through the sod roof to inspect who’s just arrived. The man is wealthy, which is evident from his fine clothing, but they are almost too gaudy. Unlike the fine attire I was used to as a Lord, his garments are not comprised of good quality materials but rather of those that sparkle the most.

His thinning dark hair is damp from the rain. The wooden table rattles as he sits down and gulps down the wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrinkled hand. Even as a dragon, I balk at his overwhelming lack of manners.

“That will be all tonight, Jonathan. See to it that you get some rest, for I will need you back here before first light.” A cruel smile tugs at the lips around his goblet. “I am to wed at dawn.”

A pang of reget hits me. My humanity may have lessened over the years, but for Anwyn, I feel some of it slowly creeping back. I want to be better for her, someone worthy of her. Would she be okay with me stealing from a man before his wedding night? My precious one has a kind heart, I can tell.

I will just take what’s necessary for her and find more legitimate ways to secure the supplies she needs in the future.

The old servant snaps up straight.

“Married?” Jonathan chokes. “I mean—who is the lucky bride, Mr. Wicksome?”

“The girl who’s been living with Mrs. Hitherbend.” Mr. Wicksome stabs the roast chicken and takes a meaty bite, the grease coating his lips. “Anwyn, she calls herself.”

My chest tightens, and the fire in my throat gathers, demanding I release it on this foul creature who covets my precious one.

“Anwyn? But she is but a girl—”

“She is young and healthy. And I think I will very much enjoy bedding her until she is with child.” Mr. Wicksome’s tongue licks over his teeth. “Unlike my former wretch of a wife, I have no doubt Anwyn will give me the heirs I need.”

“Very good, sir,” the servant mutters, slipping on his coat. “I shall be off then.”

I watch Mr. Wicksome gulp down more wine as a rage I have never known spreads through my body. It tickles every scale and makes the sod roof shred in my claws. My wings draw back tight as my vision is consumed in red.

The last time I was this angry was just after I had been cursed. The rage then didn’t burn as acutely as this.

Mr. Wicksome pours more wine into his goblet, laughing to himself.

This is why my Anwyn ventured into the storm. I should be grateful; his clearly unwanted proposal of marriage sent her right to me. However, I find myself anything but. This man, thisvermin, covets my treasure. He seeks to steal her from me and keep her for his own. He’ll never touch her; no one ever will. She is mine.

Mine to keep, mine to possess, mine to protect.

He thinks to bed her? To breed her? He is the reason she was almost lost to the storm tonight. And for that, as the protector of my precious one, he must pay with his life, of course. Endangering my Anwyn deserves the most severe punishment.

No longer caring about keeping my presence a secret, I rip the sod roof off with my claws and swoop down. Mr. Wicksome gags on his bite of chicken as I yank him from the table and pin him against a wooden beam. His beady eyes grow wide, my hand collaring his neck digs in, and my claws make his blood flow down his neck in slow rivulets.

A puff of dark smoke is expelled from my mouth, the taste burning my tongue. With his limited air, Mr. Wicksome coughs and splutters. Water splatters at my feet. I half believe it to be more rain coming in from the ruined roof until the scent of urine invades my nose.

This weakling of a man sought out my treasure? He was never a match for her. In her name, I will eradicate this threat.

“You sought out my treasure?” I growl into his reddening face.

“I—you…I—” he chokes.

“You sought to take my Anwyn from me? You're the reason I almost lost her in the storm?”

---