Bedelth the Orange (Dragonwall Series #5)

Chapter 14 - Truthful Admissions

Camp, Celenore

Saffra heard the commotion first, before she saw their return. She ran to collect Desaree and Jocelyn. "They're back," she gasped, bursting into the tent they shared. She'd been wandering camp, stuck in her thoughts.

Now those thoughts had wiped clean, and all she could think about was her eagerness for news. Together, they raced to the command tent where they found Miera and Selphie. "They're back," they all blurted together. Both Sprite handmaidens froze, eyes going wide, then dropped the gown they were working on. The five of them rushed to the edge of camp.

She had to admit, wearing pants and a tunic made life much easier, especially here in camp. Where before she'd have to fuss with skirt hikes, this eliminated the need. Sure, it was less...feminine, perhaps, but it also made it easier to run, to move, to breathe. And besides, there was still something entirely feminine about displaying even more curves.

They came to a stop at the edge of the field. Others had the same idea in mind. Half the camp had spilled out to watch the return.

Her stomach filled with flutters, eyes searching the sky. Wing formations of Drengr and their Riders descended. She spotted several orange dragons, but none of them were Bedelth's shade of orange. The vibrant hues that only he possessed. He'd always been beautiful to her. Perhaps because she'd grown up in the arid climbs of the east, where deserts spanned to the horizon and beyond.

Orange was warmth and positivity, it was the rising and setting sun, it was a bright smile, a fierce exclamation, a thing that stood out. "It's my favorite color," she muttered, making the realization, but keeping her voice low enough to go unheard. She'd always loved bright colors. Yellow had been a favorite for a long time, paired with pastel pink. But people changed, she had changed. When...when had that happened? How had it happened?

As she stood at the edge of the field, eyes searching, biting at the skin on her lower lip, she realized something she hated to admit. If she could have any color, wear any color, look at any color all day, it would be the shades of Bedelth's scales. "Godsdamn it all to hell," she muttered under her breath.

"Are you okay, my lady?" Jocelyn asked, taking her hand, warm brown eyes searching. Jocelyn's fingers brushed over hers, soft, soothing. Her handmaiden always knew when something was wrong. She was perceptive—too perceptive.

"I...I am fine, Joce," she said, steadying her voice.

Jocelyn's eyes lingered, but at last she nodded, then released Saffra's hand and turned towards the field. A small gasp of delight fell from Jocelyn's lips. "Look," she cried, "there is Lord Bedelth."

Saffra's pulse kicked up. "Where?" she managed. But even before Jocelyn could answer, she saw him, already transformed, striding towards them. His long legs ate up the distance with each step. Her breath caught. Somehow, he was always bigger than she remembered. Whenever he was near her, regardless of form, he towered over her, with bunched muscles and broad shoulders.

Daxton had been taller than her, and muscular, with nice firm lines. She'd always enjoyed looking at his arms, his chest, all of him, really. But as she allowed herself to do the same with Bedelth, she felt the fiery rush of heat in her cheeks. And yet, she couldn't stop herself, couldn't stop the way her eyes traced the lines of his body, the way his black tunic fit snuggly over him, ending at his hips, pants clinging to his every muscle. His Sverak was belted to his waist. Bandoliers crossed his rigid chest, a shorter blade in each.

There was nothing wrong with looking, was there? Just because she appreciated his body, didn't mean she was required to accept their mate bond—

A shoulder nudged hers. She blinked, turning. Jocelyn stared at her, eyes prompting.