The dragorai was already undoing her furs.
“No, don’t do that,” Elora said, her voice annoyingly breathy. “Please, I need a healer. Don’t…”
Before she could finish her sentence, her furs were open and the scent of her arousal seeped into the room. She closed her eyes again, horrified and embarrassed, but the pain in her arm focused her mind, forcing her to push aside her mortification. When she opened her eyes again, he was kneeling before her, gazing between her legs as he scrunched up her tunic to expose her further. He leaned forward, brushing his face against her mound.
She spoke as firmly as she could. “You said I wouldn’t be poorly treated.”
The beast stilled, his face twisting in anger as he looked up at her. “You are my property now. I will do with you as I wish.”
She swallowed again. “Please, I need immediate treatment before I am no longer able to use my arm.”
The beast growled. “You cannot escape your punishment.”
The lingering annoyance that had been wavering beneath the surface surged up, taking hold of her. “Is this my punishment?” she asked sharply. “Your nose between my legs? I thought the dragorai prided themselves on their sexual abilities more than that.”
The beast’s nostrils flared and he rose to his feet swiftly, this time hooking his thick arm around her torso and pulling her against him. His eyes burning into hers with a rage that made her blanch.
What possessed her to say such a thing? He would most certainly kill her now and there was nothing she could do to stop him. The pain in her arm was making her lightheaded and she trembled uncontrollably. “Please,” she said again in a measured tone. “I have been traveling all night. I haven’t rested. You had me held in cell for hours and now my arm is shattered and bleeding. I will bleed to death if you don’t get me a healer.”
The fury in the beast’s eyes slowly changed to a muted blaze. “I will have you healed,” he said after a long moment.
Relief swept the tension swept out of Elora’s body, and she sagged on his torso, lowering her head as tears stung her eyes and nose.
But the beast tilted her chin up, drawing her face up to his, a challenge in his deep blue eyes. “Then I won’t only have my mouth on your kon, savoring your taste and eating your slick, I will have all of you.”
3
Elora woke to silence.
For a moment confusion flooded her. She lay on a bed, surrounded by piles of pillows and blankets, looking up at a smooth ceiling. How had she fallen asleep outside of her little nook? Memories rushed back to her and she sat up and lifted her arm. It was thickly bandaged from the shoulder all the way down to her wrist, but when she tensed it, making a fist with her hand, she could feel nothing—no pain at all. Lowering her arm, she looked around her.
From the look of the furniture, the room appeared to be private quarters. Apart from the bed she lay on, a few chests were stacked on one side and a small table with a matching chair sat against the opposite wall. Next to the table was a small, empty shelf. Elora swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, nausea roiling in her stomach. She padded over to the table where her carrysack had been placed and checked to see if all of her belongings were there, not that she had much. Nothing appeared to have been touched, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the steward had gone through it.
She dropped onto the chair and began examining her bandages, trying to remember how she’d gotten here.
The beast told her he would get her healed and then…. Heat rushed up her neck at the memory of his final words to her, uttered with a heavily lascivious tone that made it seem like both a threat and a promise. It was clear he intended to use her sexually. And that should have relieved her—after all, it was the same thing she’d entered her old lair intending to do for his brother. She’d never had to sell her virginity like other omegas, who didn’t have the protection of a faction like she had, but giving herself up sexually for the protection of the dragorai, even as a virgin, didn’t seem like a big sacrifice. And yet… the idea of it in this lair with this dragorai-alpha, made her uncomfortable. The beast took pleasure in hurting people in the most horrid and painful ways he could. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him—her whole plan had been to avoid him completely and live a quiet life among the servants, but that was impossible now that he had scented her and enjoyed it. He wouldn’t leave her alone until he’d had his fill. It was also likely he was infuriated by some of the things she said, so he may very well wish to hurt her again simply for the fact she insulted him.
“Don’t pick at that.”
Elora’s fingers froze on her bandages, her head snapping toward the doorway.
The same female steward stood at the door, a tray in her hands and a disapproving look on her face. “You will interfere with the healing,” she said gesturing to Elora’s arm as she bustled into the room. “Does it hurt?”
Elora rose off her chair and backed away to the wall, keeping her eyes on the woman. It was easier to see her features now; rich brown eyes, cinnamon hair that fell to her shoulders, and skin the color of dark sand that held no blemish or wrinkle. Her looks had a quality that was similar to Dayatha and the other stewards. It was difficult to tell their ages—they looked youthful but clearly were not young.
The steward’s brows raised in surprise, and she placed down the tray on the table, which held a steaming bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. She snorted. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. There’s plenty else for you to be afraid of.”
“You’re the one who tricked me into going into that cell,” Elora shot at her.
“I didn’t trick you. That is our normal procedure. But it won’t happen again.” She gestured around them. “You have your own private quarters now.”
“My own quarters?” Elora looked around. “I’m on my own in this room?”
The steward nodded. “Yes.”
“But…” Elora glanced around again. “Where will everyone else be?”
“In their own rooms,” the steward replied, puzzled.
“So you all sleep in your own rooms?”
The steward stared at her for a moment in confusion, then lifted her head in understanding. “Ah. It’s likely you shared sleeping quarters in Lord Nyro’s lair because there were so many of you,” she said. “But it is preferable here for servants and stewards to have our own rooms—there’s enough space for it.”
Elora almost blurted out that she didn’t want to have her own room, but she held her tongue.
“Come and let me check on your arm,” the steward said as she headed back to the door to pick up a small basket filled with bottles and jars.
Elora hesitated, but the steward gestured to the bed and they both sat down.
The steward pressed her fingers around Elora’s wrist, watching her closely for a reaction, before she started undoing the bandages.
Elora was quiet for a moment, wary as she watched her. She couldn’t trust this steward, but she also couldn’t tell if the steward had something against her or was just following orders. “Are you the one who healed me?” she asked eventually.