Dragon Moon Read Online Free Page A
Author: Unknown
past pictures of men harvesting grain, swimming in a river, and herding cattle. Some showed both sexes working at various trades. The scene of a shoe-maker’s shop made her eyes blur. Blinking, she struggled to focus on the murals again, to keep from thinking about the end of the journey.
How many years had it taken to decorate these hallways? And when had it been done? As far as she knew, none of the artists still lived in the compound. Had Vandar worked them to death, or drained their blood when they no longer pleased him? Behind Wendon’s back, she clenched her teeth.
He led her around several turns, until they came to a wide wooden door where he knocked and waited.
When Vandar called, “Come in,” Kenna felt goose bumps rise on her arms.
The adept opened the door and said in a voice dripping with ceremony, “I have brought you the woman you requested.”
There was a low answer of acknowledgment. Wendon faded back, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her forward. When she stumbled inside, the door closed behind her, leaving her alone with the master.
She was vaguely aware of an ancient, patterned rug under her feet, rich draperies hanging on the walls, and several low-slung easy chairs, grouped in a circle.
Her gaze zeroed in on Vandar. He was sitting in a leather chair with a high back. One metal spoke of a leg came down to several horizontal pieces like the shafts of a wheel.
His feet moved, swinging the chair body back and forth as his glittering eyes focused on her. She had been twenty yards away when he’d killed Bendel. Now she was closer, much too close.
She longed to look away yet she kept her gaze focused on him. If he were a man, she would have called him handsome. He looked like a noble who was entirely comfortable in his surroundings, and he appeared to be young—no more than a man in his thirties. But it was said that he had lived much longer. Maybe hundreds of years.
She had no way to verify that, or anything else besides the cruelty and the power tactics she had seen for herself. But she knew he was so much more than he appeared to be.
Pressing her hands against her sides, she struggled to keep from trembling as her gaze darted to his mouth.
She hated Vandar. And she hated her fear of him. Probably, he knew that.
When he climbed out of the chair and walked forward, her heart stopped, then started again in double time.
As she stood in the center of the room, he circled her, giving her a close inspection. “Move your arms away from your body.”
Somehow she made her muscles work, standing with her arms sticking out stiffly as he traced the indentation of her waist, then raised his hand to cup her breast.
When her breath caught, he laughed. “Is my touch repulsive to you?”
“No, sir,” she managed to say, although it was a lie. Would he kill her for having the wrong thoughts?
It was no idle question. She knew he had done it before.
“Sit down,” he said abruptly, pointing to a chair a few feet from the door.
Quickly, she sat down and folded her hands into her lap, casting her eyes down.
“You are very attractive, by the standards of human-kind,” he said when she was seated. “Your curly brown hair is appealing. Your features are delicate. Your hips curve out below your waist, and your breasts are nicely shaped.”
“Thank you,” she managed, hating the catalogue of her physical attributes. She knew that he sometimes took female slaves to his bed. Great Mother, was he going to do that with her?
“You lived in a noble’s household,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice from shaking and wondering if he remembered the history of every slave.
He returned to his own chair, putting more blessed distance between them.
“And you are educated in the ways of the adepts and also in the ordinary subjects. You can read and do simple
How many years had it taken to decorate these hallways? And when had it been done? As far as she knew, none of the artists still lived in the compound. Had Vandar worked them to death, or drained their blood when they no longer pleased him? Behind Wendon’s back, she clenched her teeth.
He led her around several turns, until they came to a wide wooden door where he knocked and waited.
When Vandar called, “Come in,” Kenna felt goose bumps rise on her arms.
The adept opened the door and said in a voice dripping with ceremony, “I have brought you the woman you requested.”
There was a low answer of acknowledgment. Wendon faded back, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her forward. When she stumbled inside, the door closed behind her, leaving her alone with the master.
She was vaguely aware of an ancient, patterned rug under her feet, rich draperies hanging on the walls, and several low-slung easy chairs, grouped in a circle.
Her gaze zeroed in on Vandar. He was sitting in a leather chair with a high back. One metal spoke of a leg came down to several horizontal pieces like the shafts of a wheel.
His feet moved, swinging the chair body back and forth as his glittering eyes focused on her. She had been twenty yards away when he’d killed Bendel. Now she was closer, much too close.
She longed to look away yet she kept her gaze focused on him. If he were a man, she would have called him handsome. He looked like a noble who was entirely comfortable in his surroundings, and he appeared to be young—no more than a man in his thirties. But it was said that he had lived much longer. Maybe hundreds of years.
She had no way to verify that, or anything else besides the cruelty and the power tactics she had seen for herself. But she knew he was so much more than he appeared to be.
Pressing her hands against her sides, she struggled to keep from trembling as her gaze darted to his mouth.
She hated Vandar. And she hated her fear of him. Probably, he knew that.
When he climbed out of the chair and walked forward, her heart stopped, then started again in double time.
As she stood in the center of the room, he circled her, giving her a close inspection. “Move your arms away from your body.”
Somehow she made her muscles work, standing with her arms sticking out stiffly as he traced the indentation of her waist, then raised his hand to cup her breast.
When her breath caught, he laughed. “Is my touch repulsive to you?”
“No, sir,” she managed to say, although it was a lie. Would he kill her for having the wrong thoughts?
It was no idle question. She knew he had done it before.
“Sit down,” he said abruptly, pointing to a chair a few feet from the door.
Quickly, she sat down and folded her hands into her lap, casting her eyes down.
“You are very attractive, by the standards of human-kind,” he said when she was seated. “Your curly brown hair is appealing. Your features are delicate. Your hips curve out below your waist, and your breasts are nicely shaped.”
“Thank you,” she managed, hating the catalogue of her physical attributes. She knew that he sometimes took female slaves to his bed. Great Mother, was he going to do that with her?
“You lived in a noble’s household,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice from shaking and wondering if he remembered the history of every slave.
He returned to his own chair, putting more blessed distance between them.
“And you are educated in the ways of the adepts and also in the ordinary subjects. You can read and do simple
Readers choose
Christine Flynn
Jackie Morse Kessler
James V. Viscosi
Michelle Vernal
Patton Oswalt
David Shields
Rosemary Sutcliff
Peter Lerangis
Catherine Hapka