Page 22 of Song of the Dragon Rider
I should have looked away, given her privacy, but I couldn’t help but stare.
Her body was pure perfection. All curves, golden tan skin that prickled with goosebumps from the breeze, with artful marks she called tattoos trailing all down her left arm, along with a single mark on her lower back of a butterfly. This definitely wasn’t Arya.
I watched her put on her nightgown, unable to tear my eyes away. “Where were you, Cat?” I asked softly.
“I had to deliver the paintings to the vampires,” she casually said.
My gaze widened in disbelief. “Youwhat?”
She peered over her shoulder. “You heard me. Unless you need hearing aids, old man. I mean, youareseventy-five years old.”
I growled. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I brought Garrick and Maeve with me.” There was a slight pause before she said, “And my fae friend came, too.”
My growl deepened. “Cat,” I reprimanded. “I don’t want you associating with that fae. We don’t even know who he is!”
She shrugged and then turned back around. “I don’t care what you want. You’re keeping me here as your prisoner, but that doesn’t mean you get to dictate my life.”
I wanted to argue and tell her that’sexactlywhat being a prisoner meant, but if I did, we would never meet on common ground. Still, I didn’t trust that fae friend of hers. The bargainshe made with him would only bring her trouble. If the emperor discovered she freed a fae – intentionally or not – it could cause not only her death, but that of the whole Ryder family. I didn’t think she realized that.
As I watched her move around the room, my frustration was palpable, but so was another, more dangerous emotion—desire. Cat's unyielding defiance and her fiery spirit didn't merely irritate me, they intrigued me. Something about her stubbornness drew me closer, despite my better judgment.
“Cat?” I kept my voice low and valiantly tried to keep my tone even. “You're playing with fire. You know that, don’t you?”
She paused with her back to me. Flickering candlelight highlighted the smooth curve of her neck. “Maybe I like fire,” she retorted. Her voice was flippant, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that caught me off guard.
I stood and closed the distance between us with a few measured steps. My heart raced, not just with anger, but with something more complex and consuming. I reached out and brushed my hand along her arm. She tensed but didn't pull away.
“Playing with fire can get you burned,” I whispered, leaning in so close I could smell the scent of her hair, a mix of lavender and something uniquely hers.
She finally turned to face me, her eyes defiant yet uncertain. “Did you ever consider that maybe I’m willing to take that risk?” she whispered back, her breath mingling with mine. “If you don’t remember anything else about me, Damien, I want you to remember this … You can’t control me.”
My frustration boiled over. “You think this is merely about control?” I snapped, taking a step closer. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in with the weight of our confrontation. “You're meddling with forces you don't understand, Cat. This isn't a game!”
She matched my intensity, stepping forward so we were almost nose-to-nose. “Maybe I understand more than you think!” she snapped. “Maybe I'm tired of being a pawn in your little power struggles. Have you ever considered that?”
The raw honesty in her voice made me pause. In the dim candlelight, her eyes shimmered with a blend of defiance and fear, a combination that was equal turns infuriating and captivating.
“You're not a pawn,” I said quietly, the anger in my voice subsiding into something more pleading. “I'm only trying to keep you safe—”
“How? By locking me up?” she scoffed, her laugh hollow. “You have a funny way of showing you care, Damien.”
The tension thickened and each breath shared in the confined space added to the stifling atmosphere. The candle highlighted the stubborn set of her jaw and the slight quiver of her lips.
“I'm not your enemy, Cat,” I said, my voice softening. “But thereareenemies out there, ones you can't handle alone.”
“And you thinkyoucan handle them?” Her tone was skeptical. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a small step back, creating a sliver of distance between us that felt like a chasm.
“I've been dealing with their kind for decades,” I reminded her, my voice low. “I know their tactics, their weaknesses. You're new to this world, Cat. You don't have to like me, but you need me.”
The tension between us quickly escalated, words thick with unspoken frustrations. Cat's stance was defensive, her tone sharp. “You think you can just dictate my life because I'm stuck here?” she challenged, her voice rising slightly.
I closed the space between us in two quick strides, my frustration peaking. “This is not about control, Cat! It's about your safety; something you seem to blatantly disregard!”
She pushed against my chest, but the small room and her weakened state from the day's events made her push more symbolic than effective. “I can take care of myself!”
I grabbed her wrists gently but firmly, to stop her from pushing me again. The movement brought us dangerously close. “You're reckless,” I said, my voice low and stern. “Going off to meet with vampires, with fae… Do you even understand the risks you're taking?”
