Dragon-Ridden Read Online Free

towel
and a key with a bored expression.
    She didn’t let his surly silence
bother her and gave him a nod of thanks. It didn’t bother her one bit. In fact,
she couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for the lack of attention.
    Tate was the only one using the
changing room, a large room with a row of lockers on one side and two long
benches in the middle. She picked the closest locker to the bath’s entrance to
store her belongings.
    With a sigh of relief, Tate peeled
off her clothes and set them on the bench. Once wrapped in her towel she
carried her discarded clothes and her soap into the bathing area. Steam rose
from the water in wispy snakes that lost form as they rose in the air. Small
strands of hair started curling from the combination of heat and humidity. She
blew one away from her mouth. It wouldn’t be long before her hair became an
untamable mane and not in a good way.
    Blue tile lined the lip of the
sunken area of the bath and decorated the walls in complex patterns. The bath
itself was done in a light cream with the soft shine of glow lights giving the
entire area a faint air of romance and mystique.
    Tate stopped and stared in awe.
Impressive. It was by far the nicest bathhouse Tate had ever visited.
    Little beads of sweat popped up on
her forehead as the heat enveloped her. Gingerly, she tested the water with one
hand. With a groan of relief she sank into piping hot water that rose to her
hips. She dunked her head and wiped the water from her eyes when she came up
before turning to where she’d set her clothes on the floor next to the pool.
Never one to waste an opportunity, she wet her clothes thoroughly before lathering
them with soap. She hummed under her breath as she scrubbed.
    The constant circulation of the
water carried any dirt away making sure the water stayed fresh. She held her
shirt up for scrutiny. Was that a sweat stain or was it a shadow from the light?
She couldn’t tell. She dunked it again and gave it another scrubbing. Washing
them in the bath wasn’t as good as having a washerwoman scrub them, but until
she got settled money was going to be tight. Once finished she wrung out her
clothes and set them on the floor to dry.
    With her clothes taken care of, she
sank back onto the underwater bench and leaned her head back. This was heaven.
She luxuriated in the feel of the water clasping her gently in its heated
embrace and the complete absence of dirt and sweat after weeks of inadequate
sponge baths.
    Her lips curled in pleasure. There
wasn’t anything quite like the first time you were completely clean after a
long stint at sea. She didn’t mind the ship, but there were definitely times
when she missed the comfort of civilization.
    Absentmindedly, she scratched at
her arm. The skin under the tattoo on the left arm had started to tingle.
Again. The tattoo was of a sleeping dragon, intricate and beautiful. The
beast’s snout rested on Tate’s bicep with one leg draped so that it curled
under her arm and around to lightly clasp her elbow. Its tail wrapped around
her wrist, the tip of it coming to a stop in the web between her thumb and
forefinger.
    The tattoo was so lifelike, that if
she held her arm just right, it looked like she was cradling a baby dragon. A
few people on ship had asked where she’d gotten it, but like so many other
things in her life, the dragon was just one more mystery yet to be solved. She
had no memory of how it came to be or why she had wanted it.
    The tingling of the skin under the
tattoo increased and she scratched harder. No matter how hard she scratched it
wouldn’t stop. She could take a knife to it and the skin the tattoo covered
would remain numb except for those annoying prickles.
    “Saviors take it!” If scratching
wouldn’t work. She eyed the lip of the bath. Perhaps.
    She banged her arm against the
bath, then dragged her arm down its stone lip. She cursed, letting loose a
string of words she’d learned from sailors. It’d make most men’s