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“Are you not in pain, little creature?” she asked, before carefully patting the top of its head with a forefinger. It froze, its eyes wide as it turned to her. It looked horrified that she’d touched it.
When it tried to bite her, she tapped it on the snout. It looked at her in shock, like it was dumbfounded she had the audacity to smack it.
“Lord WitchSlayer!” she yelled, walking down the tunnel in the direction she’d seen him go last. “Did you honestly just call me Lord WitchSlayer?” he called back groggily, a note of humour in his tone. “Well, what else am I supposed to call you?”
“So, you are not completely incompetent.” “Naïve. The word you are thinking of is naïve.” Excuse me? Did she just correct me?
She grabbed the tip of his tail and pulled it. Instead of halting him, she ended up being dragged forward against the ground. He stopped, his head turning slowly with unmasked shock. “Did... did you pull my tail?”
She does not feel desire for me. He hadn’t seen it or scented it from her, and that had started to bother him over the two weeks she’d been in his home. Even though she didn’t feel this way, he did, and he didn’t appreciate the unrequited desire.
He wanted them on the same level so they could suffer together, by themselves.
“You said that my kind comes from yours, yes?” His anger didn’t fade, but he did frown. “So?” “Then do we not share the same magic?” His face gaped in horror right before he growled and came closer. Amalia had deeply offended him. “If my magic comes from Dragons and humans mating, then it’s the same.”
“I was wondering. How would one mount you in order to ride you?” “By my hips, I would imagine.”
“I did warn you when I brought you here that I bite.” That didn’t placate her. “Fine, I will refrain from being so rough.” I will just bite... softer.
Upon his return, he’d noted that Amalia was in a good mood, which was unusual when the green Dragon was present. Whereas Glov had been in a foul mood, which was odd because he didn’t often hold on to his anger.
That is dragoncraft. It was his kind’s magic.
“Glov has annoyingly returned,” he told her, making her laughter die and turn into a groan of dismay. “Must he return so frequently?” “It appears he wishes to aggravate me regularly.”
