The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(35)
“He blew fire on you, and you started burning. I put it out before it killed you.”
“You put it out? How?”
“By lying on top of you,” I admit, even though it sounds horribly scandalous. “I was wet from the lake. It was the fastest way to smother the flames.”
His hand tightens on my wrist. “That was really brave. So, how injured was I? I have heard if you inhale dragon fire, you cook from the inside out.”
“Your chest was covered with blisters, and you could hardly breathe.”
He studies me with narrowed eyes and takes a deep breath of air. “If I was burned with dragon fire so badly that I can’t remember it, then how was I healed? How did I wake up without a single burn? How am I able to breathe so well?” He touches his cheek. “And how did this go away?” I don’t answer. “I assumed the dragon healed me like he healed you, but he didn’t, did he?”
I shrug and stare at the ground between our feet, and try to pull my wrist from his hand, but he won’t let go.
“You healed me.” It is a stated fact. When I don’t deny it, he puts his free hand beneath my chin and tips my head up, forcing me to look at him. “Did you truly heal me?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Thank you.” He pulls me against him and holds my head to his shoulder. “Thank you.” The sun shines down on us and warms my hair, and I slowly sink into Golmarr and press my hands against his back. My eyes slip shut, and the thump of his heart matches mine, and I imagine our blood is pumping in perfect unison. He puts his palm over my ear, so his fingers are splayed in my hair, and I feel his lips on my forehead, and the sun seems to shine so bright against my eyelids I wonder if I am on fire. He leaves his lips there, and every time he exhales, his breath washes over my face and I breathe it in.
Memories of hundreds of other people’s kisses fill my mind, and it is almost like I have experienced every single one of them. But I haven’t. The urge to grab Golmarr’s face, to tangle my hands in his chin-length hair and kiss him, makes my mouth water. I grip my hands tight behind his back and force them to stay still. I am a Faodarian princess. For me to initiate a kiss would be shameful—men are the ones who are supposed to do that. I think of the lace bloomers meant for my wedding night, which now hang below the level of my skirt, and giggle. I am shameful and scandalous and immodest and everything else I have been taught my whole life not to be. And I wish Golmarr would angle my face up and kiss me.
Golmarr releases me, and my hopes for a kiss are dashed. “Why are you laughing?” he asks, a touch of a smile on his mouth.
I look down at my clothing: the bloomers, the skirt that is more than halfway up my thighs—even my voluminous once-white shirt is missing the top two buttons. “I was just thinking how improper it would be for me to kiss you, but I think I have already crossed the line from improper to disgraceful.”
One of Golmarr’s eyebrows slowly rises, and he takes a long, slow look at my legs before meeting my eyes. “You were thinking about kissing me?”
I swallow and nod.
He leans in to me, so close that I feel his every exhaled breath on my face. “One of these days, you should give it a try,” he whispers. “Probably sooner than later.” He freezes there, his lips so close to mine that all I would have to do to kiss him is pucker. His lips thin and quiver, like he is fighting the urge to smile, and then he throws his head back and laughs. “I swear, Sorrowlynn of Faodara, you have more self-control than any woman I have ever known, and you are teaching me things I never knew I didn’t know.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like I really don’t know as much as I thought I did. Especially when it comes to women.” He cups the side of my face and says, “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before, and you make me want things I never thought I would want.”
“Like what?” I ask again, mesmerized by his imperfections—the scruffy black beard that frames his lips, his tangled hair, the dirt smudged down the bridge of his nose.
“Like the kiss of a Faodarian princess. I think I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.” He smiles a crooked smile, and I catch my bottom lip in my teeth. “I’m looking forward to the moment you finally give in to that carnal nature of yours and get up the nerve to kiss me. Because in Anthar, the woman always kisses the man first.” He winks, drops his hand, and turns away from me.
I press a trembling hand to my heart and force myself to take a deep, slow breath.
“We need to find water and shelter, and we need to get off this mountain. With the season starting to change, the nights will be cold at this elevation, as we discovered last night.” He shrugs his quiver and unstrung bow onto his back. “How are your feet? Can you handle an afternoon of hard travel?”
“They are tougher than they used to be.”
“Good.” Without another word, he intertwines his fingers in mine, and we start down the mountain.
My progress down the mountain is painfully slow. No matter how carefully I pick my way through strewn pine needles and lush undergrowth, something sharp or jagged always manages to find the soft arch of my foot.
Golmarr doesn’t say anything about our pace. He stops every time we come to a stream and lets me rest as long as I want while we drink water and eat the watercress that grows along the streambed. Twice, he finds a snake sunning itself close to the water. He kills them both and guts them, then loops them over his belt.