Page 11 of The Longing

ALICE

Fenrother slides off the bed in a single sinuous move, all snake-hipped like any dragon should be. His lips are lifted to show his fangs, but this is not a smile.

“The Yeavering stone might have decided for me when to take a mate and that she should be human, but I will not sacrifice anything else.” He snarls. “You will do what is expected of you and I ask no more. But I will not place myself in the unknown.”

He pulls the hanging away from where I’m covering my body, and his eyes rake down it. I’m still damp and slightly sweaty, my hair stuck to my head, the long strands covering my shoulders.

Fenrother hooks one of my locks over his claw and stares at it. “Do all humans have this?”

“Hair?” I’m highly confused about how he can go from growling I have to stay naked to being fascinated by my hair. “Not all humans have hair, but most do.”

“I’ve never seen this colour,” he says.

My pale pink hair is a dye job starting to fade. I did it to annoy my aunt. My hair is usually a light brown, I bleached it and added the pink on top. She was shocked, and I felt it was a little win. Of course that was until she pulled a gun on me, toldme she’d stolen all my money, and sold me to the Faerie to save her own skin.

“It’s a dye,” I find myself saying to the curious Wyrm. “It’s not naturally this colour.”

“You change the colour of your hair? Why?” he says, deep suspicion swirling in his eyes.

“No reason,” I respond. I’m not going to tell him about my aunt. I’m not going to tell him anything, not while he continues with this humiliation.

Fenrother drops my hair but studies me once again like I’m some sort of experiment. “I will discover you, little female, no matter what you do to disguise your true intent,” he says, stepping away from me into the centre of the room.

Where he shucks off his trousers, kicking them away into a corner and giving me averyfull view of his naked form.

I should, perhaps, consider this a quid pro quo, but I have no desire to ogle this monster. Even if he does have athingbetween his legs I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams.

And I’m going to have nightmares about what I just saw.

Fenrother, as unconcerned about his own nakedness as he is about mine, and about his pronouncement I am to stay this way, strides into the bathroom, where I hear the sound of water running.

I just know it is not the bath. He is pissing and holy shit, he has to be part camel.

Rushing over to the bedroom door, I find it locked. I race to where he kicked his pants and delve into the pockets for the key.

There is a marble with a twist of blue and red in the centre, a piece of crumpled parchment style paper with the word “rock” written on it in spidery writing with numerous splashes of ink, a piece of thin metal and a penny sized diamond, which sparkles at me like a mirror.

But no key.

I am trapped, in here, with him. I stare into the fire at the smouldering ruins of my clothing. Unable to help myself, a sob escapes, wracking my chest with the intensity of my awful situation.

Fenrother has every intention of forcing himself on me, then maybe eating me, or possibly both at the same time. And I have nowhere else to go.

I crawl into the bed and curl up. Is it worth hiding my tears, pretending I can take whatever he throws at me? I want to be strong enough to resist him, strong enough to keep up the appearance of allowing life to wash over me, strong enough to say no.

But I can’t.

Instead, the tears run down my face. Tears I always told myself I wouldn’t cry. Tears which have gone unshed for all these years because little girls have to get on with their lives, and young women should be all sunshine and summer days. My aunt’s voice echoes these stupid sentiments in my head as I sob.

Tears are no good for anyone, and those who do shed them are cry babies who deserve everything they get.

“Alice?” Fenrother’s voice grates into my ear. “What are you doing?”

“Go away.” I pull the heavy throw over my head.

He can’t hurt me any more than I’m already hurt.

The cover is plucked off me.

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