The Dragon Legion Collection 9 Read Online Free Page B

The pot looked heavy and graceless, just like all the others she’d made.
    Would Alexander have blamed her for letting their son be taken away? She doubted it. He’d been from Sparta, and they were a tough breed of warriors. Alexander had never been afraid to face difficult choices or to fulfill his duties. In fact, he’d probably endured the same separation and training as a boy that Lysander now faced. He probably would have thought it right for Lysander to go.
    He certainly would have kept the pledge to his kind. As much as she had admired his sense of honor, there had been times when she felt Alexander dispassionate. He could be so still and impassive that she’d wondered more than once if he was made of stone.
    Was that why he hadn’t come back? Had their marriage been a duty for him? Had he thought his obligation fulfilled when their son had been born?
    Katina wanted to believe otherwise. She wanted to believe that she’d given herself to him with a love that had been returned.
    But as the years passed with no word, she had begun to doubt.
    She closed her eyes as she formed the rim of the bowl, letting her fingers find the way, and began to daydream. She savored the sense that Alexander was close to her, maybe hovering on the threshold, watching her with that little smile on his lips.
    When she opened her eyes and turned, he’d be there, she told herself. He’d be in the doorway, watching her in silence, that familiar heat in his eyes. The sign of his desire had always made her heart leap. In bed, she’d never had any doubt of his passion for her, even if it had been carefully hidden away otherwise.
    What she wanted was to be with him again.
    That wasn’t going to happen. Katina’s daydream shattered and she forced her eyes open. She surveyed the bowl before her without satisfaction. It was, at best, functional. Maybe it needed a pair of handles. Maybe she should roll the clay back into a ball while it was soft.
    “A customer, my lady,” the young slave girl, Zeta, said. “A gentleman.”
    Zeta’s tone showed her surprise, and Katina was surprised as well. She didn’t do a bustling trade, not by any means. A sale, even one of compassion, might lift her spirits. She draped the bowl with a damp cloth, before wiping her hands with care.
    “How can I be of assistance, sir?” she asked, trying to work a last bit of clay from beneath her fingernail.
    He said nothing, although she felt his presence. The skin prickled on the back of her neck, her memory of Alexander coming uncomfortably to the fore. Katina frowned with impatience at her own whimsy. There was no point in dwelling on the past.
    She pivoted to face the client, a polite smile curving her lips.
    It faded at once.
    For Alexander did stand on her threshold.
    Katina stared. Alexander had changed and not changed. She would have known him anywhere, that was for certain. His hair was still ebony and wavy, so unruly that she longed to push her fingers through its thickness. It was a bit shorter than it had been, but looked tidy and crisp. It suited him. He was tanned to a deeper shade of brown and his clothing was odd, presumably because he had traveled far. She ached at the weariness in his expression and the lines of exhaustion around his mouth. He was still tall and broad and seemingly immovable, a man who might have been a statue—save for his eyes. Her heart clenched with painful force, then began to pound when she saw the heat in his dark eyes.
    The passion burned there, the passion she’d never been able to resist. When he looked at her like this, Katina had been certain they were destined to love each other for all time.
    “Alexander!” she whispered.
    He smiled a little. “You remember.”
    “Of course!” she said, then voiced her fear. “I thought you had forgotten me.”
    Alexander shook his head, looking so sad that she wanted to hold him forever. “We were so lost, Katina, but now I am found.” His voice was husky with a rare display