Dragon Heat (Dragons of Perralt Book 2) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Sher Dillard
sense of evil touched this place.
Laila noticed several of the women shoot Flint looks of interest. The same looks the women of the market place had sent. Interest, want, even availability. It was enough to make her grind her teeth. What was it about this man that had women on the verge of falling on the floor ready to spread their legs at a mere smirk?
A little boy ran past them, laughing, giggling with pure joy. A servant in gray chased after him also laughing, obviously enjoying the game. Her heart lurched. When was the last time she had seen a little boy run for the pure pleasure of it? Usually, they were being chased by older boys or worse.
She had heard about the protected enclave ever since she was a little girl. The power, the majesty. The unbelievable wealth.
It was true, she realized. Every one of the stories were true.
She had grown up on tales about what happened to people who didn’t belong and tried to enter this place. How they were shipped off to the mines and never heard from again. Now, here she was, walking down the cobblestone street with a giant Golden Man.
Her life truly had changed. She wondered briefly what would happen in the future. What new and terrifying thing would occur next?
“Here we are,” Flint said, indicating a house made of white stone. Four windows on the bottom floor. Just like the house next to it. It too had flower boxes and an oaken door.
She wondered who took care of the flowers. Surely, not Flint. The thought made her smile. Imagining him planting flowers seemed ridiculous for some reason.
She glanced at him. “You live here?” she asked, her voice rising with disbelief.
“For now,” he answered, as he stepped up to the door and into the house. Turning, he held the door open and raised an eyebrow in question.
He wanted her to step into the house. Not go around to the back door. But through the front, where everyone could see. She looked over her shoulder to see who was watching. Maybe if she timed it right, no one would notice.
The thought of people laughing at her for entering such a home through the front door sent a chill throughout her body.
Gathering her courage, she stepped into the house, refusing to look at him less she catch any hint of mocking laughter.
She hadn’t gone two steps when she halted in place. Unable to move further.
The smells of her childhood rushed into her. The smell of wood wax her mother used on the families only table. The sweet aroma of stew with bay leaves, and rosemary.
Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t care.
The inside of the house was even more beautiful. Polished furniture. Pictures on the wall. An actual rug that covered almost the entire floor.
Laila gasped and quickly hopped to the side to stand on the hardwood less she dirty the exquisite floor covering.
Several doors off the entranceway indicated more rooms. A long staircase to the side led to the upper floors.
Laila glanced at Flint, standing there, examining her. She knew that he was watching to see how she would react. Her insides turned over, she would not give the man the pleasure of laughing at her. She could do this. She could at least pretend to do this.
Lifting her chin, she raised an eyebrow and waited. See, she could be just as domineering as him.
He laughed and shook his head. A gentle laugh, not a condescending laugh. The kind of laugh that could make a woman melt. Deep, throaty, but not mean.
Flint called out, “Mr. Sharp, Mrs. Peabody. I am home.”
A distant door opened almost immediately. A tall, lean older man and a short, round woman stepped through the door and into the entranceway.
Both of them were dressed in gray. The color of servants. He was balder than the dining room table. With a permanent frown and wary eyes.
The woman, probably in her mid-forties, had her hair up in a tight bun. Her gray cotton dress ironed and as crisp as a board.
Laila swallowed. She could tell by the quick looks they shot her way that they agreed with
Laila noticed several of the women shoot Flint looks of interest. The same looks the women of the market place had sent. Interest, want, even availability. It was enough to make her grind her teeth. What was it about this man that had women on the verge of falling on the floor ready to spread their legs at a mere smirk?
A little boy ran past them, laughing, giggling with pure joy. A servant in gray chased after him also laughing, obviously enjoying the game. Her heart lurched. When was the last time she had seen a little boy run for the pure pleasure of it? Usually, they were being chased by older boys or worse.
She had heard about the protected enclave ever since she was a little girl. The power, the majesty. The unbelievable wealth.
It was true, she realized. Every one of the stories were true.
She had grown up on tales about what happened to people who didn’t belong and tried to enter this place. How they were shipped off to the mines and never heard from again. Now, here she was, walking down the cobblestone street with a giant Golden Man.
Her life truly had changed. She wondered briefly what would happen in the future. What new and terrifying thing would occur next?
“Here we are,” Flint said, indicating a house made of white stone. Four windows on the bottom floor. Just like the house next to it. It too had flower boxes and an oaken door.
She wondered who took care of the flowers. Surely, not Flint. The thought made her smile. Imagining him planting flowers seemed ridiculous for some reason.
She glanced at him. “You live here?” she asked, her voice rising with disbelief.
“For now,” he answered, as he stepped up to the door and into the house. Turning, he held the door open and raised an eyebrow in question.
He wanted her to step into the house. Not go around to the back door. But through the front, where everyone could see. She looked over her shoulder to see who was watching. Maybe if she timed it right, no one would notice.
The thought of people laughing at her for entering such a home through the front door sent a chill throughout her body.
Gathering her courage, she stepped into the house, refusing to look at him less she catch any hint of mocking laughter.
She hadn’t gone two steps when she halted in place. Unable to move further.
The smells of her childhood rushed into her. The smell of wood wax her mother used on the families only table. The sweet aroma of stew with bay leaves, and rosemary.
Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t care.
The inside of the house was even more beautiful. Polished furniture. Pictures on the wall. An actual rug that covered almost the entire floor.
Laila gasped and quickly hopped to the side to stand on the hardwood less she dirty the exquisite floor covering.
Several doors off the entranceway indicated more rooms. A long staircase to the side led to the upper floors.
Laila glanced at Flint, standing there, examining her. She knew that he was watching to see how she would react. Her insides turned over, she would not give the man the pleasure of laughing at her. She could do this. She could at least pretend to do this.
Lifting her chin, she raised an eyebrow and waited. See, she could be just as domineering as him.
He laughed and shook his head. A gentle laugh, not a condescending laugh. The kind of laugh that could make a woman melt. Deep, throaty, but not mean.
Flint called out, “Mr. Sharp, Mrs. Peabody. I am home.”
A distant door opened almost immediately. A tall, lean older man and a short, round woman stepped through the door and into the entranceway.
Both of them were dressed in gray. The color of servants. He was balder than the dining room table. With a permanent frown and wary eyes.
The woman, probably in her mid-forties, had her hair up in a tight bun. Her gray cotton dress ironed and as crisp as a board.
Laila swallowed. She could tell by the quick looks they shot her way that they agreed with
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