Free Mask of Dragons by Jonathan Moeller

sensible man would pet. He’s liable to get bitten.” 
    “Mmm.” She stepped closer to him, her eyes flashing. “Unless a man enjoys getting bitten.” 
    “Well,” said Mazael, his hands sliding down her sides, “what does a man need with a puppy when he has a wolf?” 
    “A wolf?” said Romaria, her voice soft. “What would you do with a wolf, my lord Mazael?” 
    In answer he pulled off her coat of leather armor and the padded tunic she wore beneath it, leaving her naked above the waist.
    “What do you think?” said Mazael, reaching for her belt. 
    “You would rather have a wolf?” said Romaria. Her voice had gone soft, her breath coming faster. “Prove it.” 
    He had gotten her trousers to the middle of her thighs when she surged forward, her arms coiling around him, her mouth pressed hard against his. A moment later they had discarded the last of their clothing, and were on the ground together. Vaguely Mazael tried to remember if he had closed the tent’s flap all the way, and then decided that he didn’t care. 
    More important matters were at hand. His Demonsouled blood gave him a lust for blood and violence, but it gave him other appetites as well. Romaria understood, perhaps in a way no other woman could. He wasn’t entirely human…but neither was she. She had told him once that she liked strong men, that she was drawn to men capable of violence and battle. It came from the power in the Elderborn half of her soul, the same power that had once threatened to consume her. 
    It was just as well that they were married. 
    Then Mazael did not think about anything at all for quite some time. 
    Much later Mazael lay upon his back, catching his breath. Romaria lay curled against him, her head pillowed upon his chest, one leg thrown over him. 
    “They regret,” murmured Romaria.
    “What?” said Mazael, surprised.
    Romaria laughed. “No, no. My head’s still spinning. What I meant to say is that most lords leave their wives behind when they go to war. How they must regret it.”
    “They do it to protect their wives,” said Mazael. “Most women cannot fight as you do, or use the Sight…or turn into giant wolves to savage their foes.” 
    “No, I suppose not,” said Romaria. She pressed tighter against him. “I love you, Mazael.” 
    “I love you, Romaria,” said Mazael. “And I would have no other.”
    He felt her smile against his chest. “Truly? Not even blond little Sigaldra?” 
    “Not even Sigaldra,” said Mazael, “though it might be worth it just to watch Earnachar sputter.” 
    He wasn’t sure if she would take offense at that or not, but she laughed long and loud. “It would be amusing. But it’s just as well. I think she’s going to fall for Adalar.” 
    “Adalar?” said Mazael. 
    “Haven’t you noticed?” said Romaria. “I thought it was obvious.” 
    “I suppose it’s what young men and young women do when you put them together,” said Mazael. 
    “They both lost everything,” said Romaria. “So they understand each other in a way that most people do not. Just like you and me.” She yawned, stretched, and then settled against him. “Just watch.” 
    “If they don’t get themselves killed,” said Mazael, closing his eyes.
    “What do you mean?” said Romaria.
    “Adalar and Sigaldra remind me of you when we first met,” said Mazael. 
    He felt her lift her head in surprise. “What do you mean?”
    “They’re looking for death, both of them,” said Mazael. 
    “I wasn’t looking for death,” said Romaria. “I wanted to see as much as the world as I could before…the transformation became final. Then I met you, and…”
    Mazael remembered the flare of fire in the Old Demon’s hand, Romaria falling dead to the floor of Castle Cravenlock’s chapel. 
    “Aye,” he said at last. 
    “So maybe I was looking for death,” said Romaria. “It’s damnably annoying when you’re right.” 
    “I’ve made so many mistakes that I ought