Free Slayer by D. L. Snow Page A

back and exposed her throat. But instead of her throat he devoured her mouth, in a terrible, frantic, crushing kiss.
    To her surprise, Brea kissed him back. She met his ferocity with a fierceness of her own. When he plunged his tongue into her mouth, she sucked on him, nipped him and then sucked some more. It was she, not Cahill, who pulled and tugged at Cahill’s clothing, trying unsuccessfully to rip the chainmail from his chest, needing to touch him, to hold him and feel his skin next to hers. Having no luck with his chest, Brea instinctively moved lower, finding the knot at his waist and frenetically working it with one hand.
    At first when Cahill covered her hand with his, Brea thought it was to help her undo the tie. But then he held her hand still against the conspicuous ridge beneath his trousers, not allowing her to move. He tore his lips away from hers, panting heavily as he rested his chin atop her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice heavy with torment as he pulled away. “I gave you my word. I’m sorry, Brea.”
    Brea licked her swollen lips and gulped air in order to get her own breathing under control. “It’s not your fault,” she said in a breathy voice. “It’s the battle. I’ve seen it before, how battle makes men…” Brea didn’t finish. She stepped forward to lay her hand on Cahill’s arm, but the prince backed away.
    “Don’t come too close, Princess. I’m not sure I have myself completely under control.”
    Stopped in her tracks, Brea wondered if she should admit to him that she didn’t want him under control. That after all her protests, the very thing she wanted at this time was to give in to Cahill’s angry passion. To soothe him with her body, to ease the guilt she recognized in him because she’d lived with it herself for five years.
    But Cahill would never forgive himself for using her, whether she allowed him to or not. Brea was beginning to suspect he was a better man than she’d ever imagined. So Brea turned and sat on a stool, using the table between them as a shield. “Let me distract you, then,” she said. “Let me tell you the secret to killing dragons.”

Chapter Seven
    Before the break of dawn, Cahill gathered his officers for a debriefing and to plan their new strategy of attack. Cahill had stayed up with Brea and gone over the maps, the princess pointing out ideal spots to ambush the beasts. But Cahill was no more than a few sentences into his explanation of the new form of attack when Pritchard stood.
    “Your Highness,” Pritchard interrupted with his booming baritone voice. “With all due respect, this manner of attack you propose will prove futile.”
    “Futile?” Cahill challenged. “Yesterday was futile. Today we try something different.”
    Pritchard pointed to the markings on the map. “You’ve got the men all separated. They’ll make easy pickings for dragons.” Pritchard turned to look at each of the officers, asking for support. By the number of nods, he had it. “We all know the best way to down a dragon is with numbers. Ten men take out their wings. Five to chop the beast’s head off once it’s on the ground.” He waved at the map with contempt. “Two men here, three men there?” He shook his head. “We’ll be annihilated.”
    The murmurs of agreement set Cahill’s teeth on edge. “I am your prince,” Cahill asserted. “I have—”
    “And I,” Pritchard interrupted using his size to his advantage, “am your champion and an expert in slaying dragons.” Pritchard turned to the men who all nodded at him with a clear look of relief in their eyes. “Now,” Pritchard said, “here’s what we’re going to do.”
    Cahill looked away. Pritchard was right. He had authority because Cahill was only a prince. If Cahill were king, things would be much different.
    Frustrated and angry, Cahill returned to the tent to don his armor, only to find Brea gone. He couldn’t really blame her for leaving and he held little hope that