Elora’s tears trickled onto her cheeks. It wasn’t just the horror of what he was saying but the dark undertone of delight that accompanied his words. There was no doubt in her mind that this beast would have carried out this torture with the utmost pleasure. And what was worse was that he was close enough that his gorgeous heady scent smothered her senses. Her reactions to him filtered between disgust and attraction; it was both confusing and irritating. “Why don’t you do it?” she managed to whisper.
The beast’s jaw flexed and he scowled. “Nyro’s mate has asked that you not be poorly treated.”
Elora’s breath shuddered as she exhaled in relief. She had narrowly escaped a fate more vicious than any death she could suffer in the North Cities, and it was thanks to I’mya.
“However, she cannot ask that you not be punished,” he growled. He stepped even closer, towering over her. “You will be required to pay your debt to me in any way that I see fit.”
Elora nodded. Unable to speak for a moment, she swallowed her horror. “I will be happy to do anything to improve your trust in me, Master,” she said finally. “I wish to be useful to you.”
The beast’s eyes were once again on her neck, but he tilted his head to one side. “Why do you call me master?”
Elora blinked up at him in surprise. “Is that not how you prefer to be addressed?”
“No.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I—”
“This is how you addressed my brother.”
“Yes. I thought that was how we should address all of the dragorai.”
“There is no single formal address,” the beast said. “Although we are partial to the way the Mheyu Guardians refer to us, the Anointed Ones.”
Elora hesitated. “Would you prefer I call you that?”
The beast was quiet for a moment as he examined her. “You will call me lord.”
Elora smiled, trying to be bright and friendly. Dragorais respected strength and loyalty, but if she could show him she could be amiable and receptive, then maybe he would see she wouldn’t be any further problem to him. “I shall. I am looking forward to becoming a useful member of your staff, my lord.”
The dragorai was silent for a long moment. “How were you useful in my brother’s lair?”
Elora’s smile faltered. “I helped with…” What could she say? He wouldn’t find pottery or embroidery or any of the other things she’d enjoyed useful. “I made sure everyone was… in good spirits.”
The dragorai expression didn’t change. “That is a job for stewards.”
Elora’s smile deepened. “It can be very alarming for your servants to meet people from all over the Twin Realms. Sometimes it’s difficult to know how to trust when you’ve never had the chance to do so during the war.”
“And you trust people,” the beast stated.
“I was with a big family faction for all of my life,” Elora explained. “And yes, we trusted each other, making sure we were all happy, helping with the well-being of the faction as a whole. I think that applies to lair communities too… don’t you?”
“And what of that faction now? If you were happy, why were you so desperate to go to my brother’s lair?”
Elora opened her mouth but it was impossible to get the words out. Her throat closed up and that familiar feeling of loss and loneliness began to creep into her.
The dragorai watched her for a long moment and when it became clear that she wasn’t answering him, he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back again.
Elora gasped. “I’m sorry, I—”
The beast stretched his other arm over to her opposite arm, his fingers hovering over her wrist and he began to mutter under his breath.
The magic in the air responded, swirling and crackling as it funneled to his fingers and dug into her wrist. A sharp pain, like three knives slicing into her, careened over her body and she screamed, trying to yank her arm away from him, but she was frozen. The beast moved his fingers up her arm, dragging the magic along with it and the pain increased tenfold. Three deep, jagged scores appeared on her arm, as though invisible claws were tearing into her, and blood gushed from the wounds, pouring down her arm as she tensed and tried to get away from him. He was using magic to cut her! Dizziness overwhelmed her as the pain heightened, her bones snapping in explosions of violent agony. She cried out, begging and sobbing for him to stop, but he carried on until he reached her shoulder. When his muttering finally ceased and moved his hand from her, she slumped in the air, whimpering as he turned to face her again, but she was unable to recoil from him.
“Trust is unnecessary when there are consequences for undesirable behavior,” he said, his mouth tight and his eyes dark, “or for not abiding by the rules.”
Elora could barely focus on what he was saying. Agonizing pain rocked her to her core, making her breathless. Her mind swam, trying to make sense of what was happening. She’d always been able to handle everything with a smile on her face, taking life as it came, looking for reasons to be bright and hopeful in the harsh realities of the Twin Realms. But in just the few hours she’d spent in this beast’s lair, she knew she would struggle to do that here. He sought pain and punishment. It was only severe loathing for him that would keep her sane. This man truly was a beast.
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing heavily and biting her lip, trying to come to terms with the pain, and she settled her dazed mind so she could ask for a healer, but when she opened them again, the beast was watching her closely, his eyes once again on her neck. Suddenly, he leaned forward toward her… too close.
Elora couldn’t get away. She tensed again unsure of his intentions, but as he lowered his face, aiming for her neck, disbelief embraced her at what he was doing.
“Don’t,” she tried to snap at him.
He ignored her and nestled his nose close to the base of her neck.
Elora wished she had the strength to kick him, push him away from her, but strangely, a large part of her craved what he was about to do.
Slowly, the beast scented her, running his nose up the length of her neck and releasing a rumble of pleasure as he did. A deep involuntary shudder gripped Elora’s body, followed by a beam of desire that stung her nipples and sent a rush to her stomach. For a moment, the dizzying agony of her arm dulled, faded into the distance in favor of the alpha’s proximity and expression of sexual interest. A moan escaped her lips as her slick began to gather between her legs, and she breathed in his complex, heady scent, greedy for more.
So that’s what it felt like. Mama told her an alpha scenting an omega was an intimate and private gesture between a couple who were potentially compatible. It was an alpha’s way of determining the true scent of an omega, but was only something he would do if she was attractive to him. During the war, most alphas didn’t bother. They weren’t looking for compatible omegas—once they managed to get one, the most important thing was getting between her legs, not scenting her neck. It was somewhat old-fashioned—a sign of a respectful courtship, and despite how much she hated this beast, this behavior pleased her.
“Your scent is spectacular,” the beast murmured, his voice beautifully husky.
The tang of her blood in the air pierced the blanketing comfort of his scent, disoriented her. All she could do was gurgle in response.