George & the Virgin by Lisa Cach

Author:Lisa Cach
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781428516670
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Chapter Fifteen

Alizon watched George go, unable to take her eyes from him. She stepped to the edge of the platform where she would have a better view. She did not want to watch, any more than she ever wanted to watch the sheep being eaten, but something within compelled her to do so. She did not know if it was a sense of guilty responsibility or a simple, sick, morbid fascination.

At the moment, she was not half sure that she didn’t want George to get thoroughly thrashed by Belch. Not killed, perhaps, but whacked a few good times with his tail.

Cherry stones. How dare he!

Suck on them? She thought not. As if she would ever let him!

A brief imagining of him lowering his head to her bare breast—taking her nipple into his warm, damp mouth—filled her mind, and her body responded, twisting and tightening deep inside.

Treacherous body! Treacherous thoughts! Bite him, Belch, bite him!

George crept down the slick stone stairs, his steps light and graceful despite his size. He was still wearing the old shirt he had found, with those silver hose and boots, and the black bands around his knees. He had tied back his long dark hair, and a thick shadow of beard covered his jaw. He carried his sword with ease and wore an expression she had not seen on his face before: one of angry determination. He looked as if he had a personal grudge against Belch—as if the dragon had eaten his own sister.

It was a surprising change from his usual demeanor. She felt a quickening of her heartbeat. Maybe this battle was not as pre-determined as she had thought.

Her hands tightened on the rail. Despite the dull sword, despite the false sleeping powder, might George kill the dragon after all?

He reached the bottom of the stairs, jumping onto Belch’s beach as if he belonged there and was looking forward to the upcoming fight. If he was afraid, she could see no sign of it.

He tossed his sword from hand to hand and stalked toward Belch. As he neared he got a good grip on the weapon’s haft with his right hand, and ten feet from the dragon he stood with feet wide apart, head lowered and a glower on his face.

Belch lay still.

“Candy-ass lizard,” Alizon heard him say.

Candy-ass? He could not mean the dragon’s arse was sweet, surely.

“Virgin-eater. You think you’re a tough guy, chomping little girls?”

Why was he talking to Belch? Alizon wondered. Why didn’t he just strike him?

“You’ve been ruling over this island for too long, lizard-breath. Saint George the Dragonslayer is here to send you back to Hell!” The odd man shook out his shoulders and snapped a sudden glare at his foe. “Well? Got nothing to say?” He strutted back and forth. “I thought not.”

Was he going to talk the dragon to death?

With a belligerent, wide-legged gait George stomped a circle around Belch’s prone body, stopping every few feet and eyeballing the beast as if he had caught it trying to sneak a piece of his French toast.

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