HUNTING HIS FATED MATE. The Dark Dragon Doesn't Know How to Love

Chapter 2. I'm Not Prey

"Stop dragging me!" I repeated my demand boldly, not breaking eye contact. And what did I have to be afraid of? Morning would come soon, and the alarm would pull me out of this strange dream.

"Prey doesn't get to speak, and I'll do whatever I want with your kind," the man barked.

What kind? I thought, feeling that none of this was the way a dream should be. The dream was supposedly mine, but somehow it posed a real threat coming off this man. Dreams don't have rules. This one did, and everyone here seemed to know them except me. I noticed the scar of deep scratches on his cheekbone, like an enormous paw had torn his face down to the meat. Nobody dreams up a detail like that. My imagination had never once bothered with scar tissue.

"No!" I objected, less certain now. "I'm not going anywhere!"

"You say no?" His black eyes flashed with excitement. "Let's see what you say after I break your will."

He licked his lips with a forked tongue and seized my hair in a flash, tipping my head back. I clenched my teeth and tried to pry his enormous hand off my tangled hair. As if I hadn't had enough rudeness and cruelty in real life, now I'd run into the same thing in a dream.

My resistance gave the man enormous pleasure. With a beastly growl he fell on my lips.

It was too unfamiliar. I could feel that in that moment he was fighting his own impulses. In the first second, I was afraid of pain, and then I realized there wasn't any. He began carefully massaging my head, convincing me not to move, while his tongue worked at getting into my mouth.

I moaned desperately, resisting the assault. I had no experience with a man this domineering. Nathan used to ask permission for everything, and I'd thought that was respect. Now I understood it had simply been indifference wearing better manners. I felt him trying to part my lips with that forked tongue and bend me to his will. Unbearable heat, like a real burn, tore along my arm and gathered in my wrist.

Tears poured from my eyes at the pain. Catching the moment I parted my lips to breathe, the scoundrel got into my mouth and touched my tongue with his, easing the sudden pain for an instant. It even felt like the pain flowed out of my arm and into his enormous palm.

A storm of emotion took over my mind, my body arched, and I screamed with everything my lungs allowed. He let go at the same moment, holding my waist, so I wouldn't drop to the ground.

The incredible pain in my wrist wouldn't let me think. I grabbed the injured spot and started examining the red brand blooming as a bright stain on pale skin. The edges were still moving. Sinking into me, settling, the way ink spreads through water. I'd had a tetanus shot leave a bruise once and thought that was the worst my arm could look. Apparently my arm has opinions of its own now.

"Raksar, take her to the others! Have her prepared and get her out of those rags," he rasped, and disappeared into the tent, as if he were no less stunned than I was.

They hauled me over a broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried me deeper into the camp, with no care for my comfort.

At the edge of the clearing stood a modest tent, and from it came women's weeping and quiet moans.

The despair and pain hanging in the air made the hair on my head stir. I stopped resisting. The throbbing burn on my wrist from that rough kiss was enough for me. No man had ever treated me like a thing before, and certainly none had shoved me away and run. I went quiet in horror.

Coarse chuckles and someone's displeased exclamations kept coming from all around. There were a great many men here, and judging by the menacing, powerful voices, all of them were of giant height and without a drop of compassion, since nobody was in a hurry to free me. Somewhere ahead, metal rang against metal. Somewhere behind, a horse snorted. Ordinary sounds, and every one of them belonged to a world that wasn't mine.

"Settle in, but not for long. You're on soon. Here's Sargar Darkflame's fated mate."

There was no warmth in the voice of the one called Raksar, and he threw me like an object into the center of the improvised room.

This time I hit my shoulder painfully. I gasped but didn't go after my offender. I'd already grasped that strength decided things here, and my muscles could compete with a frog's at best.

The women's sobbing died down. Propped on my elbows, I looked around. The half-dark wrapping the space brought a sense of helplessness. Overhead, under the domed vault, a glowing sphere floated serenely. No cord, no stand, no explanation. It simply hung there, giving off a soft light, and everyone under it acted like that was perfectly normal. That surprised me, but I didn't leave myself time for reflection. I got hastily to my feet and turned my attention to the people around me, prisoners of circumstance like myself, or so I thought at first.

Slowly, creatures I'd never seen before surrounded me. I froze and tried not to move so as not to provoke them.

"How white and beautiful you are!" A gray creature ran long fingers through my white hair. "And so soft…" The girl with the short hair came closer, admiring.

Her skin was the color of wet stone, and up close I could see it wasn't smooth at all but faintly grained, like polished granite. Her fingers had one joint too many. I counted twice to be sure.

The rest grew bolder too and came right up, studying me closely. I understood that nobody was going to attack me for now, and I boldly set about studying the unusual girls. Torn dresses, weeping eyes, and a very strange appearance told me they were being held here against their will, like me.

"Who are you?" I asked the sweet creatures, my voice shaking a little. The hope that this was a dream melted with every new creature I saw. And the pain in my arm wouldn't die down, leaving no room for doubt about what was happening.

"We're prey. The dragon's fated ones," said the gray girl who'd admired my hair.

A fated one? I caught onto those last words. I'd read fantasy and even run across the term, but hearing someone say it out loud, in earnest, without anyone tapping a finger at their temple, that was a first. In the books it always sounded like a gift. Nobody had mentioned the branding.