“Yes,” he answers. “Your sister might have been as well.”
It twists something inside of me and my voice is bitter when it comes out next. “Doubtful.”
“Why is that, little one?” he growls, sounding genuinely interested.
“She wasn’t my sister by blood,” I say, staring at him, letting those black eyes ground me even while they make me want to crawl over there again and feel his heat. Would he feel that warm all the time? When he touched me…inside me? Licking my lips, I refocus on him. “I was adopted when I was three, I never knew my biological parents. The couple who adopted me thought they couldn’t have kids, Rachel, my sister, was a surprise and the doctors called her a miracle.”
“Blood or not, she was your sister, correct?” he rumbles and I nod, biting back tears.
“I have brothers,” he offers and then frowns, like he is unsure why he said that, but I grasp onto it, anything to distract me from the pain in my chest.
“How many?” I ask, sitting back and crossing my legs at the ankles.
He copies the movement, his eyes closing again, letting me finally breathe normally with those orbs no longer on me. “Six,” he replies.
I don’t reply, knowing he needs sleep and I don’t want to piss him off. I watch him as he slumbers, wondering how he isn’t mad if it’s been one hundred years. Well, madder than he is. What is he? I never asked. Do I believe this whole…supernatural thing? But I can’t deny what I did, no human could do that. If I’m capable of killing four men…what is he capable of? He’s old, I know that, ancient, if I believe his words.
It makes me wonder how they captured him. His eyes slit open, like a snake, and focus on me. “I can hear the cogs in your head turning, little one. Try to rest, there is not much else do in here.”
I nod, looking away and feeling guilty for being caught staring, even though he doesn’t seem to mind. I glance back every now and again, and I notice he sleeps lightly. Whenever I even so much as shift, his eyes flash open and lock on me until he growls. I gasp, letting out a little scream as he flashes quickly across the room. One second, he was against the wall, the next he is scooping me in his arms. He sits back down where he was and drops me in his lap, locking his arms around me and closing his eyes again.
“Err, Mishal?” I ask, almost a squeak.
He ignores me so I poke his chest. Those eyes flash open as he looks down at me with an arched eyebrow. “What?” he growls.
“Erm, why am I in your lap?” I query. Hell, not that I’m complaining since he is a lot comfier than the stone.
“Because if you didn’t stop fucking moving, I’m never going to get any sleep, so close your eyes, little one, so I can rest.” He shuts his eyes like that decides everything and I huff.
I don’t know why I do it, other than his manhandling annoyed me, but I dart forward and bite his pec, hard. I freeze, as does he, and I wonder what the fuck I’m doing, biting like an animal. I pull back, ready to apologize, but his hand comes up and cups the back of his head, keeping me to his chest. “At least use some fucking teeth if you are trying to hurt me,” he says with a groan.
I push backwards and he finally lets go of my head, laughing under his breath as I turn in his lap and face the cell, with my face on fire. “That’s what I thought, like a kitten with claws.” He laughs, his chest vibrating against my back, and I cross my arms, muttering under my breath about stupid men.
I sigh and eventually soften into him, relaxing when it becomes clear he has no intentions of letting me go. “What are you?” I ask, deciding to trust what he said was true—probably a stupid move, but it’s better than going crazy.
“You really want to know, or will it frighten you away? Because, little one, I really like the feel of this delicious ass pressed against my cock,” he whispers, his words licking along my skin.
“I want to know,” I reply breathlessly, trying to ignore my traitorous body, which is lighting up for him.
“Your people used to call me a god, born of the original titans, seven brothers with seven different strengths. I was the dragon, the one who burned the world to let it rebuild,” he answers, watching me closely.
“You’re a dragon god?” I ask, confused.
“Essentially, I was the first dragon, the very first. The rest are mere descendants of my line,” he replies, indulging me.
“So, you have lots of dragon children, what a slut,” I tease.
He laughs again, holding me closer. “No, no children, little one. Children only come from a mating and gods are not given mates. A very long time ago, I gave a human my blood to save his life. He transformed into a dragon, and so the dragon shifters were born, part dragon, part human. My dragon is a different animal altogether, he is not me and I am not him, unlike shifters.”
“What’s his name?” I query.
“They used to call him Nyre, but he has many names,” he murmurs, and I shit you not, I feel something move under his skin when he says the name.
“Ny-re, I like it,” I say softly, and the movement comes again, making Mishal grunt.
“He likes his name on your tongue too much, little one.” He grunts again.
“Nyre does?” I ask, turning to look.
Mishal’s jaw is clenched, his eyes wide as he clamps his hands on the stone floor, almost breaking his nails.
“Yes,” he hisses, his mouth transforming slightly.
“He cannot get out?” I whisper, asking in horror as it looks like the dragon is trying to break free from his skin.
Cuts open on his chest, yet he doesn’t scream or wince, like long, thick claws…or talons, are hurting him from the inside.
“He is trying to answer your call, the chains—they keep him inside my human skin. It has been so long since he was free. It’s not good for him or me,” he growls, and I gasp when his eyes turn gold, actually gold, with green around the outside, with a warm glow emitting from inside his usually black eyes.
“Nyre,” I whisper, knowing he’s hurting Mishal while trying to escape. I lean closer, pressing my hands to his chest. “Please, please stop,” I beg, unsure why.
The movement under his skin stills, and those eyes remain locked on me before they bleed to black. Mishal blinks a few times, looking at me as he settles back into the wall. “Who are you to command the serpent of the Earth?” he questions, more like he’s confused than demanding.
I lift my hands from his chest, feeling strange touching him so familiarly, but when I do the smell of his blood hits me. I turn my hands over to see it coating my palms, the bright red almost calling to me, begging me to taste. It smells like campfires and nights under the sky, and I struggle to keep myself from reaching out and licking it from my skin.
“It is just a cut,” he offers, misjudging my frozen look, ignorant to my inner struggle.
Groaning, I bring my hand to my face and lick a long line down my palm. The taste of him explodes in my mouth—night, fire, pleasure, and sin—until I’m licking my hands clean, wanting more, my teeth and body aching. Once the blood is gone, I look up and freeze at his arched eyebrow. Horror and disgust race through me, I can’t believe I just did that. Holy fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? I licked his blood from my skin for God’s sake!