Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) Read Online Free PDF Page A

tongue as long as a man’s arm with a forked tip and lightly caress her cheek and throat, then allowed the tongue to slide down between her breasts where the gamy salt of her skin was especially delicious. Just a taste, he told himself. An appetizer. She closed her eyes and moaned in ecstasy, and the sound sharpened his hunger.
    Before he could give in to the temptation to bite off her head and suck the sweet matter of her brains out of her skull, Vagner shifted forms. His body became a long shawl of white silk draped about her neck and shoulders.
    And she, docile as a lamb, left the stables to do his bidding.
    ~
    Alaric felt parched as he warbled song after song and plucked the strings of his psaltery. He would have asked for another ale, but Fenelon was preoccupied with trading attentions with the various wenches. Besides, it was nice to have an appreciative audience now and again, and those who occupied this tavern were just that. They were calling out requests from time to time, and Alaric obliged them where he was able. The meal had been good, and had cost nothing, thanks to his skill. Even the ale had relaxed him to the point the cares of the day flitted out of his mind.
    He was concentrating on the intricate fingerings of The Landlord’s Jig when a hand brushed his cheek. Alaric looked up to find one of the wenches—an auburn-haired beauty—practically nose to nose with him. She leaned over, trailing a length of white silk from her neck and shoulders. Small hairs stood on end when it touched his skin. The silk burned like nettles. He gasped.
    “I like your songs,” she said.
    “Why…thank you,” he said, trying to ignore the sting of the cloth. Why was it doing that?
    “You have great skill of voice and hand,” she went on, and Alaric blinked. He thought it strange to hear such proper speech from one who spent her life on the streets and in taverns. “I am certain you will go far in whatever profession you choose…”
    Alaric was about to ask what she meant by that when she took firm possession of his lips. And what lips they were that swallowed his, warm, sweet and lush. He quite forgot himself in the moment, wanting the kiss to last, to go beyond lips. Her shawl tumbled down his chest like fine hair and slid over his psaltery, mixing pleasure and pain in the contact.
    But suddenly, she broke free, drew back and simply walked away.
    Alaric sat there for a moment, confused and dazed. Then Fenelon called for another song. Still washed under a sense of wonder and lust, Alaric began a new ballad. He reached down to pluck the strings with his fingers.
    Strange. He thought she had dropped her silk shawl, but he saw no sign of it about him. There lingered but a fading memory of that nettle-like sting.
    He shrugged and began to play The White Hart’s Ramble .
    ~
    Vagner felt the thrum of the psaltery as the pale mageborn plucked the strings. The sound vibrated through the demon as he wallowed among the shadows of the soundbox, being careful not to expand himself so he interfered with the tone of the wood. He loved being a part of the music that touched him like a lover’s hand and sent ecstasy through his being.
    Too bad this pleasure would have to end, but even now, Vagner sensed his master’s impatience. Tane Doran was on the road. He would reach Caer Keltora by tomorrow night.
    If Vagner failed to have the map by then, the demon did not want to contemplate the consequences.
    He just hoped the young bard didn’t get too drunk to remember to take his instrument home with him.
    ~
    It was getting late by the time Fenelon had his fill of fun, and even then he only gave up his pleasures because Alaric made it known he needed to go to sleep. He wanted his first full day at Dun Gealach to be better than his arrival.
    Getting out of his chair, Alaric felt his senses spin. Horns, he’d had a little too much good ale. His head was light and his psaltery was heavy…at least, it seemed heavier than he recalled. He