Page 7 of Brutal Dragon King (Nayara Dragon Kings #1)

My throat dries the longer I hold my breath, gulping at long last and feeling air finally entering my lungs with a wheeze. My heart pounds in my chest, and now it heaves when I've begun breathing again. Gripping the edge of the steel bench with paling knuckles, I stare at the king's back as he unbuckles his belt and tosses his sword with the harness to a nearby, attentive, loyal guard.

He doesn't need to breathe a word to his men to have them do his bidding, but it isn't as frightening to watch as the experience I just had.

When King Haid?n grabbed me and flew me up over the palace grounds, I was the most frightened I've ever been in my life. My first time flying in a dragon's claws was terrifying, an experience I don't wish to relive or even think about right now.

To distract myself from the aftermath of fear skittering down my spine, I keep my eyes fixed on the king's back, glowering as I mentally plot his murder as revenge. Logically, I stand no chance against him, especially after experiencing just how powerful he is, and capable of burning me like a witch at a stake only by breathing through the triangles of his dragon nose.

A girl can dream, even if this fantasy of exacting my revenge on the king slowly begins to fade and become just that—a fantasy. What happened just now only proved that I am nothing more than a human whose only real purpose is obeying the king and his mission to produce an heir for the Kingdom.

The cold shiver that runs through me keeps me frozen in place, eyes stuck on King Haid?n's back when suddenly, he pulls his navy blue blazer off and flings it over his shoulder. It lands in a pile just in front of my feet, but I'm unable to tear my gaze away when the next thing that comes off is his matching shirt.

I gasp, my lips parting to allow my jaw to drop when perfectly contoured back muscles pull taut against smooth, tanned honey-golden skin. My mouth waters as if I'm staring at the most delectable slice of the richest dessert, but that's not the only part of me that waters.

I only move to clamp my thighs shut, feeling arousal pooling between my legs. When my thighs snap shut, I'm inadvertently snapped out of my daze of ogling the dragon king and heinously tracing my eyes across his broad shoulders. I gulp when my eyes reach his tiny, well-defined waist, and I quickly peel my gaze away while mentally chastising myself for such a crime as to become aroused by the dragon king.

I should fear him after today, and I should hate him for murdering my parents. I shouldn't be considering the pleasures of spreading my legs for him to consume me and plant a child in me to fulfill a duty I'm bound to, thanks to the reaping.

Scoffing, I gather my senses and peel my eyes away just as more dragon shifter guards join the king on the field to prepare for their game of sports—whatever it is. I haven't been warned about the game, so when a thunderous crack bursts out, I snap my head toward the field and, to my surprise, witness King Haid?n shifting into dragon form.

Only this time, it's more purposeful, more calculated when the shift in the palace garden was more abrupt. Now on the field, King Haid?n spreads bulging arms out at his sides, his muscles flexing as he curls his fists inwards and prompts scales to distend across his flesh. Bones crack and rip as his limbs distend, and he grows out into dragon form, standing mighty and tall in ice-white scales adorned with golden briolette crystals that reflect the sunlight and send rays of gold all around the field. The large, majestic wings of ice-white and gold spread out behind him.

He grunts through dragon nostrils, before padding across the field to a hanger set out with hockey sticks in the center.

Long talons close around a white stick, and King Haid?n lifts it over his head. As if drawing the sunlight into his weapon of choice, lightning bolts of iridescent gold flash across the stick and through his arms while thunder roars magically through the air.

The scene is rather dramatic, and I would have thought it was absurd if it wasn't for being curious about the game which isn't being played in their human forms. Even the ball he lifts is the size of a human head, and when it crackles with thunderbolts of life, it seems to signal the start of the game.

But instead of throwing the ball onto the field, the king tosses it high into the air, reaching for the clouds before flapping his wings with a majestic force that whisks him into the air to chase for the ball.

My breath is snatched when I witness the power played out before my eyes, the rest of the king's men following the ball into the air by flapping their wings and giving chase.

The two teams are differentiated by a crystal on each of their left shoulders, blazing in either the color gold to match the king's gem or blue to signify the other team. King Haid?n's teammate, a gold-bearing dragon, sprints through the air and then pivots himself higher by kicking a webbed foot on the king's outstretched dragon arm.

He flies faster, spearing forward like an arrow with wings latched on his sides to make him aerodynamic. King Haid?n flies in the opposite direction, but it’s a calculated move when the other dragon thwacks the ball toward the king.

My jaw drops when I witness the king shift midair, his human form catapulted through the legs of an opposing dragon while he wields the hockey stick that's as large as his human body.

When King Haid?n lances through, he comes out through the other side and whacks the ball in the direction of the net on the field that's turned up toward the sky. I can't take my eyes off him, captivated by the power and finesse of his movements, and moved by the dynamic between the king and his men, who appear to be his closest ally.

They work in tandem, the dragon catching the king's human arm and spinning him to face the field. When he's high enough, the king shifts back into dragon form, and together with his teammate, they plummet toward the field just in time for the other dragon to score a goal in the net.

Cheers and celebration come in the form of the drumbeat of the dragons’ wings as they fly high up, and the frenzy of their roars as the winning team—the king's team—blows fire in a joined circle. King Haid?n wails as if he's speaking to his team, who bow their dragon heads in unison before preparing for another round.

That was exhilarating to watch, the excitement on the field escalating just as much as my heart raced. I've never seen anything like it before, and the thrill soon makes me forget about the terror of being flown out by the dragon king.

What the game sheds light on is an undeniable fact—the king is as arrogant on the playing field as he is when he rules his kingdom. Between him and his teammates, he stands out as the most powerful among them.

As terrifying as it is, it's also alluring. I haven't stopped clamping my thighs shut, or gripping the edge of the bench. Now, my fingers tingle with not just the loss of blood, but from a sudden urge to give myself up to the dragon king.

It's faint, but it's present, and with each point the dragon king scores for his team, with the assistance of his most loyal teammates, I can't help but see how dominant he is in his natural state of being. He's powerful and in control—the latter something I hadn't tasted since it felt like my life wasn't my own since I was born in The Emberlands.

Being human meant that my life was never mine. My human life belonged to the dragon shifters since I took my first breath. No matter what came my way, the challenges, the trials and tribulations, I had no control over my life.

Not at all like the control King Haid?n exercises in the hockey arena, accumulating points for his team effortlessly. His graceful flutters, perfectly calculated flights, and powerful knocks to the ball are what drive my sudden desire.

Absentmindedly, I lick my lips as I watch him score the last point before the game ends with a signaling bleating cry from the dragon shifter who acts as a referee on the field. Like a whistle, it prompts both teams to the ground, and they stand on either side of the field. With one pointed claw, the referee calls the winner as the king's side.

More celebrations erupt with human cheers, this time when the dragon shifters transform on the ground and take on their human forms. All are shirtless, knocking chests together and screaming as they celebrate their victory.

I can hardly contain my arousal, my eyes fixed on one particular dragon shifter whose sculpted chest glistens with the sweat he built up with the game. Like a gleaming gold ornament, my hands finally release the steel bench and tingle now with the arousal that stems from between my thighs.

I gulp hard when the king's eyes meet mine, flashing with onyx darkness as his lips press into a firm, unamused line. As if he knows what I'm feeling. As if he suspects that my mind has turned into a vortex of sinful thoughts that I'd never dream of voicing.

It would be nightmarish to speak of wanting to throw myself at the ruthless dragon king when I am perfectly aware of what he's capable of.

Whatever game he's playing by keeping me in the palace in the bedroom beside him is probably better than the one I'm trying to play by exacting my revenge on him. He's always going to be one step ahead, and it's evident in the way his fiery, dark, piercing eyes glare at me now.

He's boastful, as if the game I watched was meant to show me just how conniving and powerful he is.

King Haid?n doesn't stop glaring at me, even when he throws his arm over the soldier who'd been his closest ally in the game. He appears to be the closest to the king, and I make a mental note of it in case it might help when the time presents itself to use the guard to my advantage in my scheme.

Returning to my previous plan, I'm jolted out of my daze and realize just how ridiculous my bodily reaction to the king was. I could never throw myself willingly into his arms.

Not without a fight. That was the plan from the moment I realized he wouldn't kill me if I fought back.

I will fight. I have to.

I hate the dragon king!

As that hatred burns through me, scorching my lungs and flaring my nostrils, a startled squeak escapes my lips when, out of nowhere, two pairs of large, strong hands grip me from behind.

“Wh-what…?!” I exclaim, being pulled to my feet as the two shirtless men land on the ground on either side of me. Frowning in confusion, my head snaps in both directions, and I try wrestling my way out.

My attempts are futile against their strength, but still, I persist, tugging against their brutality as I'm dragged across the field.

“King Haid?n's orders…” one mutters uninterestedly.

“He wants his slave in his private changing room,” the other says more matter-of-factly. “Royal affairs.”

“Yeah… royal affairs…” The first one clicks his tongue dismissively, and I catch the way he rolls his eyes.

Settling down, I guess that this isn't a usual occurrence. Despite the king's changed methods when it comes to his human breeding slave—me—the rest of the kingdom hasn't welcomed the idea that a slave is waltzing around on their grounds freely.

Good.

They shouldn't be comfortable.

Basking in the discomfort I bring to the kingdom, it's the king's discomfort I look forward to the most. Saving my energy for when I meet him, I allow the guards to drag me to his private changing room in the building behind the hockey arena.

What I hadn't been anticipating was getting thrown into a locker room, and the door being shut behind me with a low thud. A startled gasp escapes my lips, and the deafening silence all around the locker room is broken by the thumping of footsteps against the tiles.

Each step is calculated to deliberately follow the ticking of the wall clock behind the row of lockers. I can't see it, and neither can I see the source of the sinister footsteps until it emerges from behind a cloud of mist on the left.

My breath catches when I set eyes on a shirtless, moist chest as it appears. The menacing footsteps I heard against the marble tiles were barefooted, and my throat reprises its dryness when I noticed the towel hanging low on the man's hips. I quickly lift my eyes to find his face—the more appropriate place to look—but the improper journey from the v-line that cuts his abs, to his immaculately sculpted chest with prominent pectorals gleaming like dripping honey, is my undoing.

I only have a mere second to gather my composure when I meet his eyes, hot and dark and full of an intensity I cannot name.

His lips take on a faint trace of a cocksure smirk, and I decide that I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing that his show of power today had any effect on me. Keeping my expression grim, I fold my arms across my chest, pointedly staring him in the eyes.

Internally, I'm losing my mind, losing my last straws of sanity as the king, with his marvelous, chiseled features, comes stepping closer. His deep-set eyes are dark, and the slight upward tilt hardens and loses any softness his eyes might have betrayed him with before.

I clutch my chest tighter when my heart races, my body reacting again and betraying my better judgment. When his lips part, there's an air of authority that fans my face from the few feet of distance between us.

But still, I remain unmoved.

“Bow,” King Haid?n orders, but I'm so determined to defy him, that I make no move.

“Was that what today was all about?” I challenge him with a quipped brow. “To prove that you're a powerful being?”

A flicker of a frown passes his angular brows, but he reclaims his sternness with a low, guttural growl.

“I am your king…” he roars with threat. “Bow, slave…” he commands again, but I will not give in now.

“No,” I refuse with a huff, and it only spurs the king into taking another step forward.

He slams a palm against the metal locker behind me, glaring into my eyes with deadly darkness glinting in his.

“You still choose to defy me?!” he bellows, his roaring voice echoing in the white space of the changing room.

“You want me to bow, but I cannot respect you!” I retort, and the king's eyes grow wide with rage.

“You are nothing but a measly human. A peasant !” He spits the last word violently, and instead of fear, it's anger I feel.

“And who decided that, huh?!” I grind back, prodding a finger in the center of two perfect pectoral muscles. Feeling his hot flesh on my fingertip sends a sensation of electric awareness coursing through me, but I give away nothing when I glare ferociously into his eyes.

His are dark, eerie orbs of fury, his chest heaving at a rapid pace against my accusing finger. He takes another step forward, forcing that finger to curl against his chest when I refuse to remove it.

We are both determined to show that neither of us is willing to back down, and something is arousing about the air charged with what can only be described as sexual tension.

“You are a slave…” the king grates through gritted teeth.

“Everyone keeps reminding me of that!” I bite back bitterly, narrowing my eyes as my chin lifts with a defiant air. “Just because you're powerful, doesn't mean you get to decide whose life has value and whose doesn't!”

A deep, guttural growl resounds in the air, and I feel the vibrations against my finger curled against his chest. The king is vexed, his nostrils flaring with a grunt, and he suddenly grabs my wrist, fingers forming a scorching vice-grip that keeps me frozen in place.

Frozen because the slightest physical touch is my undoing. I open my mouth to throw something his way again since my verbal retaliation is all I have to fight against the dragon king. It's the only way I can mask my body's seemingly natural response to him, and hide what I really feel between my thighs.

“I will never—” I begin, but the dragon king leans in, his hot breath fanning my face and compelling me to shut my mouth and press my lips into a firm line.

“You will never what? Bow down to your king?” His eyes marrow into blade-like slits that slice through my being.

All I can manage is a squirmish hum as I fight my baser urges and try to hang on to the hatred I feel for the king. That hatred is hanging by a fine thread now that I can’t see beyond his physical presence and the way he exudes dominance in his mere being.

There is no logical reason for his stature, except that he’s an immortal dragon shifter and the most powerful preternatural creature that walks the land. Ever since I was born, it was a known fact that the dragon shifters were the rulers of our lands for centuries before my time. I never understood it before, because I’d received the short end of the stick as a human.

Yet, I can see it now, almost as if his majestic aura materializes around him, shrouding him in brilliant gold light that isn’t soft and gentle, but rather imposing and unforgiving.

When his grip tightens around my wrist, I think he's about to shift in the small confines of the changing room, rip through his towel into dragon form, and fly me out through the ceiling in another show of power. But when he yanks me forward, closing the little distance between us, he does the unthinkable.

It’s worse than anything he’s done so far to exercise his power over me.