Burning Hunger

Burning Hunger
Author: Vashka
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.


Chapter Three: The Maiden


000


Hermione stood still, head slightly cocked as she stared in wonder at the statue. It was carved from white marble in the form of a beautiful, idealized man. His perfect face was thrown up to the heavens, his snow-white body radiating energy, practically alive.


Hermione’s lips parted in wonder, and her hand reached out to touch it, almost as if she was making sure he wasn’t real. Shaking herself slightly, a small smile hovering on her lips, she moved on to gape at the other statues in the collection.


Draco’s sterling eyes watched her as she enjoyed his haven, drinking up her pleasure in his home. She had been here for months now, but he never tired of seeing her among his treasures.


His hand tightened into a fist as he stifled the urge to go to her and lead her through his cache and show her his favorite objects.


She wasn’t ready.


He wasn’t at all subtle. Draco was used to instant gratification. But this… this was too important to mess up with heavy-handed wooing. He coveted her, all of her. But he would only get her if he were patient.


Too bad it went against every instinct he possessed.


The man inside him warned that it was best to go slow, but the beast wanted nothing more than to snatch her away to their bed and keep her there for days. He had thought about it, multiple times, especially during the nights when he could smell her, feel her drowsy warmth so very close.


It was because he coveted her that he did not act on these instincts, of course. He had seen the victims of rape when he wandered through villages that had been sacked by neighboring human armies. They were once women, he was sure, but all that had been left behind were small, pitiful, broken creatures.


Draco’s mouth twisted sardonically as he watched Hermione’s curls bounce as she strained to reach a book on a high shelf. And the humans say I am the beast. Just like the stupid humans to ruin their females. He felt a fission of warmth in the vicinity of his heart at he little whoop of triumph, as she dislodged the object. I would not want my treasure broken.


It constantly surprised him that he should desire her so and he was often filled with a helpless wonder as he thought of how easily it would have been to overlook this diamond buried in the mud.


He had only haunted that part of the country because he had heard the Lord had a unique treasure in his possession – a set of statuettes made from the polished ivory of unicorn’s horns. The collection wasn’t rumored to be particularly valuable, but it was interesting, and no one else had anything like it.


Draco wanted it.


It was a common practice for Dragons to terrorize the little humans, in the hopes of being offered something of value in recompense. If a Dragon accepted the prize, he was honor-bound to stop haunting that area.


Some Dragons at the gatherings held every year tried to discourage the young males from this practice and he supposed that he understood. Danger to the race, and all that. However, he found that most of the time he just couldn’t help himself. It was lonely in his cave sometimes, and the loot he was offered in recompense was too great for his greed to resist.


Besides, it was rather fun.


He had been offered maidens before, but none of them had called to his instincts as this one had, so he had left them screaming on their stakes and continued to raze the earth until better bribes were offered.


This girl was different, somehow.


His heightened senses had seen her from the air just as he had been about to go through his usual flight pattern over the town. Curious, he descended to see what the villagers thought would appease him.


His finely honed senses noticed her hair first. It was a fascinating mix of untamed, shiny russet curls. His keen eyesight could pick up bright highlights of cherry red and honey, made more evident from the blood red roses and white lilies woven into the curls. The rest of her was all softness; skin as smooth as cream, pink trembling lips, high cheekbones in a sweetly curved face.


But what arrested him the most were her eyes. Brave amber eyes with ochre flecks. She was afraid, he could smell the fear-scent mixing in her musk, but she was facing what she thought was certain death with an intriguing nobility. He was surprisingly appreciative.


She fascinated him, but he still couldn’t decide what to do with her. Should he leave her tied to the wooden post, or should he take her to be his mate? She seemed strong enough to bear his sons, but he wasn’t sure if this lust for her beauty was the overwhelming ‘mating instinct’ his father told him would overcome him when he found the right maiden.


While he was deciding, she did something unprecedented.


She smiled at him.


His instinct screamed at him to take her then, to take her immediately, so he did. Fortunately, his instincts seemed to be spot on. The more he saw of her, the more he coveted her attention, her smiles, her stories, her love.




He needed to possess her, body and soul. The mating instincts were rearing their ugly head, and it was all he could do to hold back the raging beast inside him. When she smiled at him or when she touched him innocently, he felt the thin, taut cords binding his control ready to snap.


Draco had heard, of course, that when the right maiden was captured, he would feel her like a fever in his blood, a disease that could not be purged until he was sated deep within her body. He had never really believed, until now. Even after seeing his father mourn the death of his mother for so long, he had never truly believed.


Dragons mate for life, Draco’s mind whispered. As he watched, Hermione settled onto the couch by the fire to read. She’s so beautiful…


Draco smiled slightly as he watched her read and toy with her curls, a blossom of contentment blooming inside him. After seeing that she was comfortable, he started to walk towards the north section of his cache to inspect the condition of the walls. They had been crumbling last year after the heavy rains, and he wanted to shore them up before the winter months.


He had never really been around a female for a long period of time before. He barely remembered his mother, and was too young to really appreciate how graceful and lovely the creatures really were.


He liked choosing gifts that would please her. And she was pleased, he could see that. She took obvious pleasure in his gifts, but made no further move in the courtship dance. Yet she continued with her daily routine, unmoved by these expressions of his intentions. She blithely winnowed her way through his horde, through his life, without acknowledging his interest, favorably or unfavorably.


It was getting damn frustrating.


Growling softly to himself, Draco brooded as he absently catalogued his treasure as he walked. Strange that he didn’t mind her wandering through his horde, his usual dangerous jealousy was absent. She belonged there, amongst his treasures. The perfect jewel to complete his collection.


He had heard her humming softly to herself a few times. Perhaps she liked music? She would love the mahogany harp, then. He would give it to her tomorrow.


Draco huffed an annoyed breath that smelled vaguely of brimstone. He wasn’t sure what her problem was. She already acted like a mate. She made him food, she kept the hearth, made sure he was properly clothed (he did forget, sometimes), and she shared his bed.


She accepted his gifts. His instincts sensed that she was softening towards him. So why was she so unwilling to mate?


She stiffened when he came into her presence, her senses sharpening as if she were prey. Well, in a way she was, he supposed, but he planned to devour her much, much more thoroughly than his usual quarry.


Hermione wasn’t terrified, but she wasn’t receptive to him either. He knew from his father that the maiden needed to make the first move when it came to mating, else she would be too horrified to complete it, because of his dominant Dragon nature. His female was as beautiful as a trembling doe, and just as easily startled.


So he studied her, as he would any other coveted object out of his reach. What did she want?


The stories gave him a clue.


He listened avidly every night, delighting in how her anxiety lessened as she spoke. She would usually start sometime after the evening meal, and then spin tales of magic, of romance, of heroic men and their beautiful women. Elaborate fantasies of love, honor and passion.


He ached for the time when she would see him like that, when she would finally accept him into her heart and body, so he could curl around her soul and never let her go.


So he did what he did best.


He made a plan.


000


Draco lounged indolently on his couch, fingers idly tracing the carved wooden frame, for once not staring at Hermione as she efficiently made their evening meal.


He was reading a book.


Not just any book, he reminded himself, the book.


The book that would make Hermione his forever. In theory, anyway.


The Indian book fascinated him. Translated by one of his forefathers, it had apparently been handed down from father to son for centuries.


He cringed as he remembered the mortifying conversation that preceded the gift.


“You haven’t claimed your maiden yet?” The elegant, solidly built Dragon chortled, bursts of flame spurting out of his nostrils in amusement.


Draco grimaced slightly; grateful he was in Dragon form so his father couldn’t detect the flush of mortification he was sure he would have had if he was human.


“I’ll take that as a negative, then.”


His father shifted then, becoming a tall, handsome gentleman that looked eerily like an older version of his son. Unabashedly naked, he disappeared behind a haphazard pile of Spanish doubloons, an elegant crystal swan, and a giant platinum bowl, and returned a few minutes later carrying an ancient book.


“Here you are, son. Apparently, you need all of the help you can get, if the desperate smell of you is any indication.”


Hermione set some food in front of him, and he ate slowly, still reading, completely absorbed by the sensual nature of the book.


The congress of the Wife of Indra, Draco read, Is suitable only for the highest congress. Draco stopped, puzzled. What does that mean? He looked at the picture carefully, searching for clues. The figures were bent in such as way that he was sure would break his tiny human if he tried it, which certainly would not help in his seduction. He had already learned a great deal about females from the book, the nature of which both shocked and aroused him. He could feel the Dragon shredding his already tenuous control with every page, his newly awakened carnality growing with every fantasy.


Furrowing his brows, Draco turned the page.


She was bound to the pole, like she was when he first saw her. Clad in virginal white, the gown clung to her generous curves as she struggled against her bonds.


He watched her avidly from the air, seeing her writhe on the stake, his desire growing stronger as he watched her bite her full bottom lip in frustration, drawing blood. She was flushed with exertion, panting and moaning as she worked at her bonds.


The Dragon smiled in anticipation.


He landed, noting the increase in her struggles. The man inside was happy that she was bound, so that his prey could not escape, but the beast was disappointed that it would not be able to hunt tonight.


Another time, perhaps.


He transformed, and watched her luminous amber eyes widen in shock. Stalking forward, his body painfully and proudly aroused, he leaned close to her small frame, dragging the musky scent of her arousal into his lungs. Growling fiercely, he shoved a hand into her curls and raised her lips to his.


Groaning, he explored the soft contours of her mouth, delighting as her body softened against his. Boldly, he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue and when her lips parted in pleasure, he plundered her mouth. Lightheaded from the kiss, his hands roamed her curves desperately, itching to feel her soft skin.


Ripping the offending fabric from her body, he noted with satisfaction that her lush body was flushed with arousal, and her dilated eyes watched his movements avidly.


Cupping her full breasts gently, he delicately traced their contours, running his hands over their softness, teasingly grazing her aching peaks. He felt his woman start to squirm, and he smiled wickedly. He suddenly pinched her nipples and she let out a hoarse scream of pleasure. The sound went straight to his core, and his cock twitched eagerly.


His hand roamed down her flat belly to her damp, springy curls. She gasped softly as he probed her sensitive spots, and wriggled uncomfortably. Growling, he lightly nipped the side of her neck and she stilled. Sliding one large finger into her, he mimicked the act of copulation, feeding greedily on her gasps of pleasure.


When he could stand her desperate whimpers no longer, he lifted her higher on the stake and positioned himself at her dripping entrance. As he lowered her, inch-by-inch, onto his cock, he was gripped by an inferno of pleasure. When he was buried to the balls, he wrapped her legs around his waist and began a driving rhythm.


The world narrowed to just their joined bodies as they rode on and on and on, muscles straining, until they were almost…


“What are you reading?”


Startled, Draco looked up into curious amber eyes. Swallowing nervously, he slammed the book shut. Tongue-tied, he said the first thing that came to mind, “A book from a far away land.”


“Oh. Would you read it aloud to me?”


Draco, to his mortification, felt his face flame. He shifted on the couch, hiding his erection. Grimacing slightly, he said, “It would take too long to translate it.”


He held his breath, hoping she would accept his paltry excuse.


Hermione, luckily, did not seem to notice.


“Would you mind reading something else, then? I am very tired tonight.” She chuckled slightly, and stretched languorously, unconsciously showing off her high breasts, “Had entirely too much pleasure playing in your treasure today.”


Draco’s heart clenched in feral anticipation- she had asked something of him! Surely that was progress.


“I will. What would my lady prefer?”


“Mmmm,” Hermione’s pink lips curled enticingly, “Do you have any Greek Mythology? I love the tales about the pagan gods and goddesses, even if they are wicked.”


Draco inclined his head slightly, rose quickly, hiding the telltale evidence of his desire from her, and headed for his makeshift library, taking his precious book with him.


He would have to thank his father the next time he saw him.


000


Draco gained confidence over the next few days.


Hermione was growing more and more comfortable in his presence. He would deliberately brush against her as he walked past, or casually touch her hand as they ate, or tug her curls playfully when she teased him about something. She had been jumpy and easily startled at first, but now she seemed used to his touch and anticipated it. Although he was aching for the time when she would initiate contact, he felt that it would come with a little more time.


Draco was pleased with his progress.


He still found it uncomfortable to speak very much in his human form, but around her he had grown used to being caged in his weak human flesh, and it no longer felt quite as unnatural.


Later that afternoon, Hermione was reading him a story about a very silly boy who traded his cow for beans. He didn’t quite understand the point. Was he supposed to like the stupid human who gave up good meat? The giant was a much more sympathetic character in his mind. The moronic boy was trespassing after all. He mentioned this to Hermione and she laughed. Draco leaned back into the soft pillows, content.


Still giggling, she reached out and smoothed a pale lock from his forehead, letting her fingers linger on the smooth planes of his cheek.


Draco went very still.


She touched me! Draco thoughts were riotous, the beast within chanting furiously to take her, his human side warning him to move with caution.


Deciding that he should trust his human side for now, he slowly ran his hands up her silk-covered arms. Trying not to startle her with his overwhelming desire to rip off her robes and take her on the couch, he cupped her face gently. As her eyelids slid shut, and her breathing grew erratic, Draco’s beast howled in triumph.


Mineminemineminemine…


Suddenly, Draco turned and looked at the sky and sighed, cursing to himself.


It was such an out of character moment for her Dragon, Hermione was forcefully pulled from the sensual spell he had woven over her. Regaining her wits, she said, “What’s the matter?”


Draco’s lips quirked slightly, “We’re about to have a visitor.”


Before Hermione could inquire further, she heard the unforgettable sound of wings beating rhythmically. Instinctively, Hermione curled herself into Draco’s warm body, seeking refuge against the intruder.


Clutching the soft silk of his robe, she sat very, very still as a great silver Dragon dropped through the ceiling. Not Blaise, then, Hermione thought with some relief. I think Draco would tear him apart if he were to show his face here again. Slowly.


The giant creature lumbered towards them delicately, its sinuous neck swaying with every movement. Great gusts of steam streamed out of his delicate nostrils as sharp steely-grey eyes took them in. Hermione clutched the rough silk of Draco’s robe spasmodically, wondering why he wasn’t reacting.


The new Dragon was huge, far greater in size than Draco or Blaise. In a word, he was massive. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fat. His thick muscles were incredible, and while Draco wasn’t delicate by any means, this Dragon was built on a much larger scale. If it came to a fight between her Dragon and this intruder, Hermione wasn’t sure who would win.


His skin was darker than Draco’s bright platinum, more of a burnished pewter hue. He had a diamond ruff that ran around his narrow, elegant head, leading into a trail of glittering spikes that trailed along his spine.


The sharp eyes of the beast honed on the pair, and as it took in their close proximity on the couch, a low grumbling issued from his chest.


Draco’s hands clenched spasmodically and he gritted his teeth in irritation. “Hello, Father.”


000


The beautiful man lounged on the couch like a sultan, his long silver hair tumbling down muscular shoulders and framing a face of harsh masculine perfection. The few wrinkles on his face only seemed to enhance his strong features. Hermione thought that her mother would be rather jealous, as she was ever complaining of her wrinkled skin. Of course, that was if she didn’t collapse in shock over his semi-nudity.


Dragons really don’t seem to like proper clothing, Hermione thought ruefully as she deliberately kept her eyes from fastening onto the abundant male flesh before her. Trapped in a growing sense of unreality, she strode over to her Dragon, offering a selection of meats and cheeses on an ancient silver platter etched with runes. He didn’t smile at her, but she thought that his eyes were warm. That would have to be enough.


Gathering her courage, she held her head high and walked to the older Dragon. His steel eyes gleamed cruelly as he stared at her.


“She’s a princess, of course.”


Hermione blinked in surprise, and the words were out of her mouth before she could reel them back in. “No I’m not.”


“Not a princess?”


“No,” said Hermione, simply.


Lucius turned to Draco, eyes narrowed. “Your mother was a princess.”


“Yes, Father, I know.”


Hermione held her breath and waited for the swift blow of bloody death.


Lucius, however, was content to lounge by the fire’s warmth and sneer at her. “My son with a common mate. How… amusing.”


Hermione’s spine stiffened. “I may not be of royal blood, my lord, but my family has been in the peerage since the days of the Romans.” Smirking saucily, she added, “And I do not see how it affects you in any manner. I do not know how Dragons arrange things, but in my world, servants do not need to be of the same social sphere as their masters.”


The older Dragon’s grey eyes blinked slowly.


Then, he roared in laughter.


Obviously, this speech did not have its intended effect. Hermione shook her head and stormed to her makeshift kitchen.


“Well, son. I see that the progress has been very slow. Do you need more help?”


Draco, stone faced, stared fixedly at the fire. There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Draco stood, suddenly.


“I am going to get more meat. We do not have enough.” Then, he transformed hurriedly and took flight.


Hermione was aghast at this desertion, but quickly marshaled her courage to face the situation at hand.


So. They were alone.


She had been in worse situations. Maybe.


He stared at her rudely as she vigorously chopped the greens for their meal, and she glared back. She was without Draco’s protection, but she was too angry at this arrogant, demeaning, rude, condescending creature to care if he used her for a toothpick.


She hoped she got stuck in his teeth.


She smiled wickedly at that, and shot Evil Father a nasty look.


Surprisingly, he wasn’t sneering at her, but contemplating her with a rather serene expression on his face. “You shouldn’t smile like that to another male.”


Hermione blinked and said, “What?”


“My son won’t like it, especially because you are still unmated. He would even attack me, his father, if he felt threatened.”


Hermione’s movements stilled, incredulous, as she heard this appalling speech. Setting her knife down, she strode over to the large man. “Surely he would not attack his kin? I don’t believe it.”


“Believe it.” Lucius’s words were flat, cold. “Dragons are naturally covetous, girl. We seem driven by blood to collect, to steal, to take and to possess.” As he said this, Lucius gave her a meaningful look.


“Me?” Hermione squeaked, “Surely you can’t be talking about me.”


“And why not?”


“I’m too ordinary for a Dragon! Brown hair, brown eyes, a pleasing figure. I’m pretty enough, but why choose me of all the exotic beauties I’m sure he’s encountered?”


Lucius gave an elegantly Gallic shrug of his shoulders. “Who can say how a Dragon knows his mate? I certainly don’t know, and I’ve felt it before.”


He leaned forward, steely eyes hard with menace. “But know this: once a Dragon feels the pull, he will keep the female with him. Forever. Depend upon it.” His voice was low and his words were spoken with the conviction of simple truth.


Hermione felt a bit faint. She excused herself quietly, not caring about Lucius’s mocking smirk.


She had to think.


000


The two Dragons lumbered towards to the exit after gorging themselves on the cattle Draco had ‘found.’


Lucius eyed the general vicinity of one very confused girl. He smiled contentedly. His son would have a very difficult time of it, he suspected. Green flames spilled out of his jaws as he chuckled. “Is she this diverting all of the time?”


His son’s long neck craned towards her scent, and his ruff puffed up around his face. “Usually, Father.”


Not what I would have picked, but a mate is a mate, I suppose. At least she isn’t an idiot. I couldn’t abide moronic grandsons. “Then I approve.”


Draco growled, but his eyes seemed amused. “As if I needed your approval.”


000


Hermione was not an early riser by nature. She usually awoke mid-morning, and that was certainly early enough. So when she awoke at dawn, unable to fall back asleep, she was disgruntled. Turning to her other side, hoping the new position would lull her back into slumber, she was startled to find Draco still abed.


Seizing the opportunity, Hermione lay very still and stared at his face, mesmerized by his beauty and by the softness his face had in slumber. He looked almost, but not quite, human.


Every day she grew more and more fond of him, but was that enough to marry upon? Her mother certainly thought so, and had often taken her to task for refusing so many eligible suitors. Her mind was in the clouds, and Prince Charming didn’t rescue damsels in distress.


Certainly not Prince Charming, Hermione thought as she contemplated her Dragon. I can’t be his mate. I just can’t be. His father was mistaken.


She held her breath as she saw him stir. Eyes still closed, he groaned softly and stretched sleepy muscles. His pale hair was mussed and his face was flushed and boyish. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the light. His lips parted softly upon seeing her awake.


“Good morning.” She smiled tentatively.


Draco’s sleepy eyes widened, then relaxed into content silver slits, “A very good morning, indeed.”


000


Later that day, Hermione was rummaging through a stack of chests, scavenging for clothing.


“He has to own something that covers more skin than these robes,” She mumbled grumpily. While there was absolutely no order to the trove that Hermione could discern, she did notice that items could sometimes be found in patterns. Although said patterns, such as Things With Gold, or Small Things made very little sense to Hermione’s very human mind, she supposed it might help a Dragon keep things organized.


Sweating, Hermione’s forearms burned as she heaved the heavy oak and gold lid off of another trunk and peered in cautiously. She gasped in delight. There, nestled in a downy yellow quilt, was a child’s heaven. Jam packed into the trunk laid a pewter top, wooden swords painted bright colors, an ivory whistle, golden rattles shaped like snakes, a leather drum, a whole battalion of toy soldiers, a variety of balls, and one lonely little cloth doll.


I had a doll just like this. Hermione thought as one trembling finger traced the button eyes and the red-stitched smile. It was my favorite toy, my companion on adventures. My parents gave it to me for Christmas.


She remembered that Christmas. She had been six years old, and it had snowed the night before. Her father had taken her on her very first sleigh ride through the forest. The air was frigid, and the blowsy powder fell into her clothes, but she didn’t care, because the magic of it outweighed those silly things. And when they arrived home, her mother had prepared a feast for them. Afterward, as they sang songs by the fire, they exchanged gifts. With wide-eyes wonder and joy, Hermione received the doll, and she gained a friend for life.


Perhaps it still sat in her room at home…


Hermione felt a great weight settle on her chest. She clutched the toy to her bosom as she let the memories wash through her, choking her with their intensity.


Home.


She remembered all of the little things that she had repressed. Her father’s soft humming as he polished his sword and scent of lavender in her mother’s solarium. Her way of giggling like a girl when something tickled her fancy. The smile-lines at the corners of her father’s amber eyes…


The sob exploded from her body, clenching her guts, stealing her breath. Mum, Dad. Oh, how I miss you. She collapsed on the trunk, and wished fiercely that she would be in her mother’s arms, just one more time.


“What is this?” Draco roared, “What has harmed you?”


Hermione just looked at him and then sobbed harder. She threw herself into his arms, and twined herself around his lean frame. Burrowing her head into his warm chest, and clutching him close, she abandoned herself to the tears leaking steadily down her cheeks.


Draco was aghast. He stared at her trembling form for a moment, before laying a tentative hand on her curls. She let out a loud sob.


“You will never to do this again!” he growled roughly.


Hermione blinked. An image of Draco glaring at her every time she dared to shed a tear was so absurd it broke through her despair. She giggled a little and shook her head.


Snuffling quietly, and mopping her tears the best she could with her hands, she gave him a sloppy smile and said, “I’m all right.”


Draco scowled fiercely as he stroked her hair. “No more of that. I don’t like it.”


“Sometimes it makes you feel better to have a good cry.”


The Dragon’s eloquent sneer told her his opinion of that particular aspect of womanhood.


000


Hermione sat by the fire humming softly to herself as she vigorously combed out the numerous tangles in her curls with her ivory-handled brush. Letting the heat from the dying fire slowly pull her to slumber, she yawned widely. Smiling sleepily, she moved to the bed and heaved aside the sumptuous bed linens. Making herself a nice, downy cocoon, she sighed happily and settled in for the night.


Blinking sleepily, she wondered what area of the cave she should explore tomorrow. Maybe the area by the hot springs. I haven’t been there yet… Her half-lidded eyes stared at the embers, her mind drifting into that lovely haze that precedes true sleep.


The light was suddenly blocked.


Gasping, Hermione bolted from the bed, heart racing.


Casual as you please, Draco melted out of the darkness.


“Hush, woman.” Draco’s usual granite expression was in place, but his deep baritone was soothing as he approached. Tucking a hoydenish curl behind her ear, he gently caressed her face, making Hermione tingle down to her toes. “You startle too easily.”


Giving Hermione a small smirk, his otherworldly eyes lowered, paused, and fixated on something below her neck.


Hermione, until now, had been frozen in shock. As her nerves recovered, she had a sinking feeling that about what was so interesting to the Dragon.


Her breasts were exposed. Of course.


She colored furiously, made an involuntary noise of distress, and quickly pulled up the silk sheets, swiftly covering all of the essentials.


Draco’s wicked smile widened, and as Hermione watched, still disbelieving, he turned his back and nonchalantly started to disrobe. Her mouth went dry at the play of firelight on his ivory skin, the movement of his thick back muscles causing shadows to move enticingly.


When Hermione caught a glimpse of a perfectly rounded arse, she shook herself out of the strange trance. Turning to her other side quickly, she said testily, “Don’t you have any modesty?”


She heard a deep chuckle, a soft creak, and felt his side of the mattress sink with his greater weight.


“No. Modesty is a silly human concept. And not a universal one, I may add.”


Hermione then heard the distinctive sounds of covers rustling, the deep sighs of a drowsy man. She swallowed, and fiercely tried to will herself asleep. She tried not to think about the large man lying next to her, so close that she could feel the movements of his limbs as he snuggled deep into the downy softness, finding the most comfortable position for his large frame.


Invading my personal space again. At least I’m used to it by now. Sort of.


“Aren’t you going to look at me, little maiden? I am covered enough to satisfy your modesty, I think.”


Posed like that, I would look like a coward if I did not, Hermione thought irritably.


She turned around slowly, and faced him, her face rosy with embarrassment and things she wouldn’t acknowledge.


“There now,” Draco said, amused, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”


Hermione sank into the blankets a little more, as her wide eyes took in her Dragon. His lower half was modestly covered beneath the sheets, as he’d said, but his top half was most definitely not. He was lying on his side, one arm splayed on the pillows, propping up his head, the other restlessly prowling the divide between their bodies. His pectoral muscles were gleaming in the dying glow of the fire, and Hermione thought he looked entirely too beautiful to be real.


“I do not see why you refuse to cover yourself. It makes me uncomfortable.”


The Dragon smiled wickedly, showing pointed teeth. “And I do not see why I must, as garbing myself as a foolish human makes me uncomfortable.”


She looked into amused eyes and harrumphed. Foolish indeed!


Deliberately turning to lie on her back and stare at the flickering shadows on the ceiling, Hermione asked casually, “So what do Dragons value if not modesty?”


Draco was silent for a moment, and then said, “Intelligence, cunning, wealth, beauty… and courage. Even if it does get one into more trouble than it is worth.”


Hermione digested this and filed it away for further contemplation. “May I ask you a question, my lord?”


“Proceed.”


“Are all Dragons like you?”


“Like me?”


“Do all Dragons transform into men?”


Draco was silent for a moment, and instead of answering reached out to toy with her curls that were spread wildly amongst the pillows.


Annoyed at his silence, Hermione snatched the hair away. “Well?”


Draco smirked slightly, but replied, “I don’t know. But all of the males I have met are of the transforming breed. Perhaps others exist, but it is unlikely.”


Eyes bright, Hermione asked eagerly, “Males?”


“All Dragons are male.”


“Really?”


“Yes. Which is why we capture maidens to breed strong Dragon sons for us.”


Hermione flushed and turned away from his heated stare to look at the lace canopy instead. Just ask him, Hermione. Don’t be such a coward!


“If I’m your, erhm…” Hermione felt her skin flame, and was sure her blush extended all the way to her toes by now. Gathering her courage, she continued, “If I’m your mate, like your father says, why haven’t you been more, um, mate-like?”


There was a charged silence, and then Draco’s soft voice whispered in her ear, “This is why.”


Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as Draco’s mouth slammed onto hers. Stiffening in shock, her eyes widened to saucer-like proportions as his large, naked body rolled onto hers, the thin silk of her robe the only barrier between them. He was hot, on fire, his body so damn large, and it felt so hard and so very different from hers. One large thigh probed between her legs, gently parting them, while his restless hands wandered her silk covered torso.


His mouth suckled fiercely, teeth nipping, as if he was trying to devour her whole. Hermione’s mind went into a slow tailspin from the pleasure, silencing her fears, as his tongue made slow sweeps to the seam of her lips in between his gentle bites.


One touch surely won’t hurt, Hermione thought dazedly. Tentatively, she placed her hand to his beard-rough cheek. Draco let out a groan, the sound vibrating on her lips. As he made love to her mouth, she let her hand drift into his hair. Draco’s kiss grew more fervent in response, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth. Upon gaining it, he kissed her in such as manner that left her dazed, her body aching and overheated. Her other hand began tracing the deep muscles of his back and shoulders eagerly, and the other still clenched tightly in the rough silk of his hair.


As she touched his skin, Hermione distantly remembered the serpent she had found in the garden last year, and this skin had nothing of that flat, scaly texture. Yet it was not quite human, either. Slightly rough one way, silky smooth the other, she could spend hours detailing the similarities and differences.


His lips gentled then, tantalizing her with frissions of heat shooting straight to her belly, causing the slight ache to coalesce into a burning need that demanded to be satisfied.


The heat of large body surrounded her, and his heavy weight pressed her to the bed. It made her feel very small and fragile. His endless, drugging kisses made her grow restless and her body wanted to move. Seeking relief, she arched upwards, inadvertently rubbing her aching core on his thigh. She sighed as the hum of pleasure in her body increased, and repeated the action, smiling slightly as Draco’s kisses grew more and more fervent.


As her control slipped away, she noted that his hands were working eagerly upon the fastenings of her robe. Finally growing frustrated with the ties, he fisted his hands in the delicate fabric, and tore it roughly from her body with a great ripping noise that echoed in the large cavern.


Hermione hardly noticed.


She did notice, however, when he touched her bare skin for the first time. She arched off of the bed as Draco cupped the heavy weight of her breasts possessively. He catalogued her skin, exploring it thoroughly, and generally driving Hermione insane with his slow pace. When he brushed her nipples, she cried out softly. Experimentally, he did it again. And again and again, until Hermione could barely remember to breathe.


Just when Hermione thought she would go mad from the teasingly light touches, Draco suddenly dipped his head and captured one of the over-sensitized peaks in his mouth.


She closed her eyes as his hands drifted up and down her legs, still doing wicked things to her breasts with his mouth. His tongue slowly, almost lazily traced her nipples now, and he slowly teased the trembling peaks of her breasts as his fingers traced tingly patterns on her thighs.


His hands moved slowly, ever so slowly upwards to the spot where she desired his touch the most. Almost… Almost… Oh, dear God… There.


Hermione opened her eyes in shock at the gentle touch. Her lips parted in silent wonder at the pleasure that he was giving her, and she wondered why no one had told her that the marriage bed was so lovely. She cupped his face, and just as she was about to capture his lips again she noticed something very odd.


His eyes were glowing.


It was like being doused with a vat of ice water. What was she doing? Was she ready for this? For God’s sake, they weren’t even married! It was highly improper living here while she was just a captive, but she was sure that becoming his concubine was a fast-track to hell. And he wasn’t even human...


“Stop…”


Those demon eyes, like something out of her nightmares, haunted her even as his gentle touch enflamed her body. She needed to get out of here, away from him. She needed to think damn it.


“Please stop.”


The Dragon paused. His head was cocked slightly and his sharp teeth were bared aggressively, so very close to her fragile skin.


Hermione cupped his face with trembling hands. “Please, Draco.”


He shut his eyes tightly, and when he re-opened them the eerie glow was gone. Slowly, as if doing something painful, he removed himself from her warmth. Hermione scooted away from him and drew the covers around her protectively.


Seeing this, Draco’s already precarious temper snapped. “Stop that! I won’t hurt you, woman, but I will let you know one thing: the longer you wait to let me into your heart, your soul, your body, the stronger my beast gets.” Draco ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know how much longer I can control it. Come to me soon, or we will have a larger problem on our hands.” With that, Draco leapt off the bed with startling grace. He looked at her for a moment, fists clenched at his side, his face harsh and inhuman. Then, without another word, he strode away.


She watched his powerful, naked figure melt into the darkness of the cavern. When she could no longer see him, even when she squinted, she rolled over and stared sightlessly into the embers.


There was an ache in her heart every time she saw him. Was it love? She wasn’t sure. Her logical brain kept trying to analyze it, but she couldn’t come to any definitive conclusions. When he left, she was lonely. When he smiled, she was happy. When he touched her, she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin.


He was a fascinating, beautiful marvelous creature. He had a droll wit when he chose to speak. A serious, sound mind that she approved of, and she relished his company when he wasn’t scaring the daylights out of her.


And he wanted her.


She wanted… well, she didn’t really know what she wanted, but that wasn’t the point. She had never felt so wild, so out of control.


As she curled herself into a fetal position in her heavenly bed, she rubbed her belly, hoping the deep ache within would subside soon.


She was utterly, hopelessly, confused.


Weary, she closed her eyes tightly and wished she could just go home.


000

A/N: I finally got around to updating! Huzzah! Again, I am a very busy student who just got married, so I am writing as fast as I can in my “spare” time. But I promise I won’t abandon this project, I love it too much. Many thanks to my beta, Lorett, and to you my fantastic readers, who give me so much encouragement.


Also, The Kama Sutra was written anywhere around AD 100 to Ad 400. Therefore it is possible that highly discerning collectors like the Dragons could have had a copy by the Middle Ages (I think of this story set in the High Middle Ages which occurred around 1000AD to 1200AD).


I hope no one was too angry about Hermione’s attack of conscience at the end of the chapter. My take on it is this: This is the middle ages, and sex before marriage was not approved. It is likely that Hermione would know some mechanics of sex (it wasn’t the Victorian era!) but as a maiden of the higher class, she wouldn’t know too much. Maybe she needs the Kama Sutra, eh?