Page 12 of Heart of Fire
Images of his hands hit him as he stroked over the table, and the way his collar tugged open when he shifted, baring the tanned, smooth skin of his throat. Freyja liked the look of him, and Rurik fought a predatory smile as she threw the thought aroundher.
A curious thing, to see himself through another’s eyes.Drekiwere strictly forbidden to enter another’s thoughts and pillage them, though anything she projected was fair game. And her thoughts danced over his skin like rainbows, so vivid and colorful he almost tried to reach out and catchthem.
A bad idea. The stiff slant of her shoulders alone told him that. If she felt his psychic touch… if she knew precisely what was sitting at her table, then he would lose all chance at seducingher.
Not yet.She was too wary. More timid than he would have ever believed of his fierce mouse. His brows drew together momentarily. What had made her like that? The idea twisted inside him like something withclaws.
“So,” she murmured, “wheredoyouhail from?” For a moment her eyes lingered on the fine cut of hiscoat.
Tailor-made, all the way from London. He’d paid a small fortune for the extravagance of having it and others so swiftly finished, before he returned to pursue her. But he wasdreki. He would no more clothe himself in peasants’ garb than wallow in apiggery.
“I come from the south,” he murmured, eyeing her strictly cut black dress. Freyja ought to be in silk, or better yet, naked, lying on silken sheets. She deserved finer things, and he would see she had them before he was through withher.
“And you come here to seek tales ofdreki? Of localsuperstition?”
Careful here. He could not utter a lie; thedrekiwere bound and honored by their word. “I am curious of what you think of such creatures,” he replied, as the wine, ale, and their dinner arrived. “Many don’t believe their existence. Mostly those in the cities, or on theContinent.”
“I have seen... proof of their existence.” Freyja frowned into her ale. “The cursed creature ate myram.”
“Your ram?”Always that bloody sheep.Would she never forgive him for it? It had been delicious and it had brought her into his lair, when he might never have seenher.
“My village pays a tithe,” she explained. “For thirty years we have been bound to sacrifice one of our livestock each week to the wyrm, so he might leave us alone. My father tells me he and the rest of the local farmers gathered together many years ago, and struck a bargain with thebeast.”
Beast?“They were either very courageous, or foolish to brave such a fiercecreature.”
Freyja shrugged. “Perhaps they knew their offer would be accepted? Wyrms are lazy. Why hunt when a lamb shall be tethered out for you once a week? He used to hunt more frequently, my father claims, but now he spends most of his time lazing in his mountain, soaking up the heat of thevolcano.”
“I thought wyrms to be fierce, powerfulpredators.”
“When they wish to be. Most of the time he leaves us alone. He is bound by his word not to harm us….” A frown tightened her brow. “Though now it seems some of the local bonders have brokentheirword, and hired ahunter.”
“I would not think this would troubleyou.”
“It doesn’t.” Yet the worry etched on her expression didn’t fade. She sighed. “If they’ve broken their oath, then the wyrm is no longer bound by his. They are vengeful creatures, according to legend. I don’t particularly wish to incur his wrath. I can’t afford to lose any morelivestock.”
And she wouldn’t. Her fierce desperation in his cave scoured him.My father and I shallstarve….
“Perhaps other tithes might appeasehim?”
At that her mismatched eyes locked on his, a flare of her temper lighting the beautiful green and brown of them. “A virgin sacrifice, you mean? We do not take part in such barbaric practicesanymore.”
“They are rare,” he admitted. “Apity.”
“Virgins? Or the act of sacrificing one?” shecountered.
Rurik allowed himself a smile—and didn’t answer. “You speak as though it is acrime.”
“No woman should be forced to suchdepths.”
She was definitely angry now. Her eyes blazed. And Rurik caught the edge of her thoughts. There were few virgins around her farmstead. Most of the young women were either married, or stillchildren.
Except forher.
“In olden times, women offered to be made sacrifice,” he said, sipping his wine, and watching her eyes spit sparks.Beautiful. “It was anhonor.”
“To beeaten?”
So innocent.... “Oh yes. To bedevoured.”
