Page 15 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

I leave Jessiva sound asleep in my cave and take flight into the cool air of the spring morning.

Since she and I began mating regularly, the endless void inside me has not ached so fiercely nor roared so loudly. She fills the emptiness, stills the storm. I love her beyond what words can express, and yet I’m holding back the one thing she craves—her freedom.

I should let her go… but I need her too badly. And she needs me, too. With time, she will come to realize it.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot a black shape streaking toward me, hurtling at a speed dragons rarely reach except in times of great need. I swerve my head to look.

It’s Kyreagan, racing to me on frenzied wings, and behind him, in the far distance, along the horizon, lies an entity that terrifies both humans and dragons alike—a towering wall of churning cloud, spattered with intermittent lightning, first purple, then red. It’s a giant storm, so immense that it swallows the horizon, and it’s moving toward Ouroskelle.

This cosmic, magical storm system is called the Mordvorren. It is sentient, cruel, and intentional. It finds a target and hovers over that area, pummeling the land with screaming wind, savage rain, and bone-cracking thunder. Any spellwork performed beneath its shadow is sure to be twisted into something terrible.

The Mordvorren lasts for days, sometimes weeks. And it’s headed straight for us, which means we’ll need to shelter in caves indefinitely. We’ll have to gather as much food as we can today, or we won’t outlast the storm. We’ll starve, trapped inside the mountains of Ouroskelle.

“Varex,” calls Kyreagan, sharp despair in his tone.

“I see it,” I reply.

He whirls and hovers beside me, our necks parallel, heads aligned as we survey the impossible scope of the storm. Decades ago, the Mordvorren devastated parts of Elekstan and a few islands of this archipelago, but it hasn’t visited this part of the world in years. Last time it approached, Kyreagan and I were very young. The clan scrambled to prepare for a long period of enforced shelter, but then something made the storm turn back out to sea.

“Maybe it will go away this time, like it did when we were hatchlings,” I suggest.

My brother scoffs. “Do you really think it will? With the luck you and I have been having lately? It’s as if our clan is doomed, despite all our efforts. Maybe the Bone-Builder is angry with us, and is determined to end our race.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Because you are eternally optimistic.” He chuckles dryly. “One of the things I love about you.”

We hover a moment longer, angling our wings against the onrush of the wind. It’s already rising, even though the Mordvorren is still hours away.

“We have weathered more than our fair share of storms,” I tell him. “We can conquer this one, together.”

“Always together,” he affirms.

“Except… we’ll be separated during the storm,” I muse. “Trapped in caves with our women during the mating heat. What if we injure or kill them?”

“We have no choice,” Kyreagan says. “The cavern in which they’ve been staying floods during hard rains. Besides, you know as well as I do that dragons who do not couple during the mating heat suffer a partial loss of their magic and a decline of their health. We need the women.”

“Some males fuck each other during the heat and maintain both their health and their magic,” I say.

“Those dragons are born with a desire for male company,” he counters. “You and I—and most of the other males—were born with a desire for females. For us, mating with males will not provide the same benefits. I agree that we must take measures to protect the women. This will be a time of uncertainty and enforced restraint for us, and a time of great risk for them. But it would not be safe to leave them alone in caves during the Mordvorren. At least in dragon form we can offer them some protection with our heat, our size, and our magic.”

He falls silent for a moment, then tosses his head restlessly. “I hate this, Varex. The mating heat should be a time of freely coupling in the open air, beneath the sun, with one’s life-mate or with any willing female. Instead we are being forced into confinement, without any of the usual rituals or celebrations that accompany the season.”

I prefer privacy with Jessiva to a clan orgy, but I don’t divulge the fact to Kyreagan. Instead I say, “What if we have a choosing ceremony, during which the women each select a dragon with whom to weather the storm? That will give them some freedom of choice and give the rest of us a definitive start to the season we’ve anticipated for so long.”

Kyreagan perks up. “I like that idea. Giving them a choice. Though I doubt the Princess will choose me. I am not right for her anyway. We would likely kill each other if we were confined for days in a small space.”

“Let her make that decision,” I suggest. “We can have the ceremony in Conch Valley, shortly before the storm arrives.”

My brother chuffs in assent. “We should alert the clan. We must hunt and gather as much food as possible, and the women should help.”

I think of Jessiva in my cave, curled up in her green velvet dress, with her scarlet hair fanned out across the bed. “I will let my woman sleep a little longer. And what of the Princess? Where is she?”

Kyreagan vents a disgruntled rumble. “She is still at the hot springs, hiding in a crack of the cave. She won’t come out.”

“Did you damage her or displease her?”

“Damage her, no. Displease her… I seem to have a talent for it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What did you say?”

“Nothing terrible,” he growls. “Just that she is my prisoner, so she must do what I say, when I say it.”

Despite the impending storm and its threat, I can’t help laughing. “And you thought the Crown Princess of Elekstan would respond well to such a statement?”

“No,” he admits. “I didn’t exactly think about her reaction, until she reacted.”

“I do sympathize. I angered Jessiva last night. But in my case, I was speaking the truth, and I knew how she would respond.”

“So you angered her on purpose, which is worse.”

“Maybe.” I beat my wings to gain more altitude. “But she fucked me anyway.”

I soar away from Kyreagan. He follows, but he doesn’t ask me anything about my night with Jessiva. I sense that he is still struggling with whether or not he should mate with Serylla before the official season. He is someone who values tradition, plans, and routines. When things do not go as planned, he has difficulty adjusting to the new reality. I dislike such adjustments as well, but it’s even harder for him.

We fly from cave to cave and visit the enclosure in the valley, informing everyone of the Mordvorren’s approach. Kyreagan delivers the dreadful news and announces the preparations we must make, and I soften the blow with hope and guidance. To the males, we dictate the terms of their confinement—that no matter how powerful the mating frenzy might be, they must not force a coupling upon anyone, on pain of death.

We work well together, Kyreagan and I, though I feel the absence of our sister like a missing limb. She would have strategized better than either of us and faced the storm’s approach with a bright vigor that neither Kyreagan nor I can muster.

I miss Grimmaw more fiercely in this moment, too. As the Bone-King’s mother, she was the wisest and most powerful of our elders. Kyreagan and I have other elders with whom we can consult, but there are none quite like Grimmaw.

Fortunix’s battle experience and cunning nearly equaled my grandmother’s, but for some reason he is nowhere to be found. Kyreagan doesn’t seem interested in finding him, so I let it pass, though the Elder’s absence strikes me as odd. Fortunix’s behavior has unsettled me lately, though I cannot pinpoint any specific reason why.

During the morning, I volunteer to supervise the women so the other dragons can hunt. Once, while circling above a clearing where the women are gathering mushrooms, I spot a deer among the trees. But Runaris approaches at the same moment. I know he is a weaker hunter, so I let him take the prey.

Later on, I rouse Jessiva, tell her about the storm, and carry her down to the valley so she can wash up and assist the other captives. During our flight, she says very little to me, except to mutter, “I suppose you’re happy. This means you can’t take me home for a while.”

“Nothing about this storm makes me happy,” I tell her. “Have you considered what it will mean for everyone—dragons and humans trapped in caves together during the mating frenzy?”

“Oh god,” she says faintly.

“Indeed.”

I drop her off at the cavern without further comment and leave to hunt what I can before the meeting in Conch Valley. But most of the mountain goats have taken shelter, the rabbits are in their holes, and the deer have slunk deep into the forests where I cannot go.

At last, I manage to pounce on a fat wild pig who is snuffling among tree roots, munching on half-rotten nuts. I should be glad that his gluttony made him slower to take shelter, glad that I found something to feed myself and Jessiva during the storm. But I can’t shake the fear that it isn’t enough.

I barely have time to prepare the creature and hang it up in my cave before I must go to Conch Valley to join the others. I will have to wait until after the meeting to fetch Jessiva’s share of the foraged goods and transport it to my cave.

Perhaps I should have claimed the deer that I saw, after all. My act of mercy toward Runaris may bring starvation upon Jessiva and myself if the storm lasts too long.

The other dragons have already brought the women into Conch Valley by the time I arrive. In the center of the valley is a jutting slab of rock. When a dragon stands upon that rock, even their quietest words can be heard by everyone gathered here.

The women are clustered in front of the stone slab, while the dragons pace and prowl around them. Our prisoners are chattering in tones of mingled worry and excitement. They know what’s about to happen, and while they may not be able to fully understand the mating frenzy, the idea of it has unnerved them… rightfully so.

As I land on the valley floor near the group of women, several of them turn to look at me. There’s admiration and calculation in their eyes, as if they’re sizing me up, considering whether or not I would be the best dragon with whom to shelter.

Until this moment, I had taken it for granted that Jessiva and I would share a cave, alone. But with the eyes of the other women fixed on me, I feel suddenly fragile and uncertain. The void inside me expands, searing the edges of my heart. A dull ache begins in my chest.

I don’t want to be chosen by anyone except Jessiva.

Lifting my head high, I catch her scent and spy the flamelike hue of her hair, but before I can make my way to her, Jaerix intercepts me, accompanied by two other dragons. They are all young males of twenty-five, born in the same season as Kyreagan and I.

“We would like to perform the mating dance,” Jaerix says.

“It’s something all males practice from the time they can fly,” adds one of his companions. “We’ve been looking forward to dancing for our mates since we were hatchlings. So much of what we loved has been stolen. Why should this joy be taken from us?”

I hesitate, glancing upward at the sky, which is darkening rapidly. We don’t have long before the storm arrives. Usually the mating dances would take place one by one, over many hours, but time is too short for that. The rational part of me wants to deny the request outright.

And yet… dance is something Jessiva values. She loves rhythm and motion, the music of bodies. If she doubts whether or not I am the right companion for her, perhaps I can convince her through the language of her soul.

“We will have to perform the dance quickly,” I say. “Not one by one, but in groups.”

“Yes, yes, agreed,” reply the other males.

“I will speak to Kyreagan about it when he arrives,” I tell them.

“Here he is now,” says Jaerix, stretching his neck upward.

Kyreagan sweeps down to the large slab of rock in the valley’s center, with Serylla on his back. I can tell by the ferocity of his wingbeats and the thunder of his landing that he and the Princess have been arguing. Whatever happened between them has made him angry and volatile, which means I will have to step in and smooth things over.

I wish the two of them would stop resisting the bond that clearly exists between them and simply accept that they are right for each other. It would make everything much more peaceful for the rest of us.

Serylla dismounts from my brother’s back and lays aside the bundle she’s carrying. She’s dressed in a bright orange gown, looking every inch like a queen of dragons, her golden hair flowing in the wind. When she places her hand against my brother’s neck, he tenses, but he allows it.

I pounce onto the rock and move in beside Kyreagan. Though I speak low, I’m conscious that everyone in the valley can hear my words. “The males want to perform their mating dances, brother. I told them we would allow it.”

“There’s no time,” growls Kyreagan. “The storm is nearly upon us. We must choose our companions quickly and take shelter.”

He is right, and yet I need this as much as the other males do. Rarely do I assert my will over Kyreagan’s, but in this moment, I must.

“We have a little time.” I elongate my neck, lifting my head higher than my brother’s, a sign of supremacy. “This is an important tradition, a ritual handed down through generations. To save time, instead of each dragon performing alone, we can perform the dances together, all at once.”

“That isn’t how it’s done,” Kyreagan counters.

“It’s called a compromise.” I let my voice sink lower, almost to a growl. Purple light shimmers in my throat and nostrils. It would be a warning to anyone else, but to my brother, it’s a sign that I care deeply about the outcome of our debate. “This is important to me, and if we truly share the rulership of Ouroskelle, you will allow me to make this decision. I respect every choice you have made, and I support you in all of them. Support me in this.”

His pupils widen slightly, his expression softening as he understands that this isn’t an idle whim of the other males—it’s something I need.

“I support you,” he says quietly, with a confirming dip of his head.

I return the gesture before turning to the crowd. “Then we will have music! Ladies of Elekstan, you may have been captives at first—spoils of war, prey to our vengeance—but I believe I speak for every dragon here when I say, you have become far more than that to us. You are honored guests, beautiful friends, cherished companions. You are our salvation. As my brother proclaimed earlier today, not one of you will be forced to mate with any dragon, in any form. But if you would deign to honor us with your affection during this season, we will worship you as you deserve and cherish you as long as you allow. No pairing during the heat will be binding. It is a time of joy, and yes, of breeding, but the eggs, once laid, will be the males’ responsibility alone. You will be free to live as you like, with or without the dragon you choose today.”

Serylla elbows my brother’s neck and mutters, “Why couldn’t you have said it like that?”

When her voice echoes through the valley, she realizes that instead of a private dig at my brother, she humiliated him before the clan and the captives. She blushes deeply, regret etching her features.

But Kyreagan has never viewed my skills as a threat, not once. It’s one of his best qualities.

“My brother has a tongue of gold,” he says, amusement and appreciation in his tone. “I am fortunate to serve the clan with him.”

His words soothe Serylla’s embarrassment and uplift both him and myself in the eyes of the crowd. The other dragons chuckle, and before any further awkwardness can occur, I direct the women to back away from the stone and move together so we can create space for the dance.

Jessiva comes forward, separating herself from the crowd, and my heart jumps—but she’s only approaching to help Serylla down from the stone slab. They lean in briefly, speaking to each other, but I can’t hear what they’re saying above the chattering voices of women and the eager conversation of the male dragons.

Our captives—or our guests, as I called them—have withdrawn far enough, opening a large space between them and the slab of rock. Kyreagan and I join the other males, and at my nod, all of us begin to hum. A dozen dragons leap into the air, wingbeats synchronized, while the rest of us remain on the ground or on the rock slab.

We hum the ancient song of love, of procreation, of unification, even as the shadow of the storm hovers ominously in the sky. Our song is defiance, the rhythm of our feet is thunder, the clash of our jaws is lightning. We are the storm, a storm that neither the blood of war nor the shadow of death can conquer. Life glows within us, and endurance thrives deep in our bones. We will not yield, and we will not disappear from the earth.

That is what drives me as I dance. The bones of my ancestors framed this island, and they will continue to uphold it. Though the skeletons of our females lie upon these meadows and upon the fortress city of Guilhorn, their death did not mark the end of us. Through channels of sorrow, we have soared into a new dawn, into unimaginable possibilities.

I dance with my eyes fixed on Jessiva, without thought of anyone else. My slender form lends itself more easily to rhythmic movement than the bulk of some other dragons, and I let my neck, my tail, my wings and my limbs flow with the humming chant, with the pounding rhythm. It feels natural to take to the air during the song, to swirl and spin and dive and twist before coming back down, thudding to earth in perfect time with the beat.

Jessiva’s gaze remains on me throughout most of the dance, straying only momentarily to the other dragons. It’s gratifying, but not entirely reassuring.

At the conclusion of the song, every dragon roars, our blended voices shaking the valley. With a final stamp, we halt, and I step forward. “Our guests will now choose their guardian for the duration of the storm. Once everyone has chosen, you will have a moment to collect your things before your dragon takes you to his cave.”

The chaos is immediate as some of the women head straight for the dragon they prefer. I watch the pairings being created, keenly aware that there are more males than females. A few of the male dragons in the group have a preference for their own gender, and a couple of the women seem to have captured the attention of more than one dragon; but even so, there will be males left without a partner. Once this is over, I should take a moment to reassure those who have not been chosen.

Jessiva doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to choose anyone. She’s talking with the tall female knight, Jaerix’s captive. I wish I could hear what they’re saying, or discern words by the shape of their lips as they speak.

I’m so focused on watching Jessiva’s mouth that I barely notice Princess Serylla approaching me, her blue eyes full of purpose.

Fuck. Is she… is she choosing me ? Over Kyreagan?

“Princess.” I dip my head to her respectfully, trying to come up with a gentle way to reject her. “I thought—I expected you and my brother to—”

Serylla takes hold of my jaw spikes and tugs my head lower so she can speak into my ear. “Be careful of Jessiva. She wants you dead.”

She releases me, and I recoil, dread and pain piercing my heart. Is that what Jessiva and Serylla were discussing moments ago, when Jessiva helped her down from the rock? Surely my darling couldn’t wish me dead—not after what we have shared.

“You’re wrong,” I tell the Princess.

“I hope so,” she says fervently. “Just… be careful.”

Abruptly Kyreagan shoves his way between us, snarling at the Princess. “You’ve chosen him ? You’re going to shelter with my brother?”

“No, I’m not!” She turns up her nose, a look of prim defiance on her face. “I’m going with Rothkuri.”

Kyreagan glares down at her. “Rothkuri?”

“Yes.”

“No.” His answer is a low growl, a threat that makes my scales tighten with apprehension. She is pushing him beyond his limit.

I linger near them, waiting as they continue to argue, until Serylla announces her preference for Rothkuri once again and spins away from my brother, ready to saunter off to her new mate.

My brother’s reason snaps.

I sense it right before it happens, but I’m not fast enough to stop him. With a choked roar, Kyreagan catches the Princess up in his huge jaws. Seizes her in his mouth, right in front of every woman and dragon in the valley.

He’s not hurting her—not yet. But if he exerts even the smallest bit of pressure, he will pierce her soft flesh with his teeth. And if he injures her, kills her, or devours her, it will be the end of him. He will never forgive himself, nor will he ever lead the clan again.

“Kyreagan!” Serylla gasps. “Put me down.”

I leap forward, bringing my face near to Kyreagan’s. “Brother, what are you doing? Release the girl, right the fuck now.”

Kyreagan hisses at me through his throat, but he knows me as well as I know him. He hears the threat in my voice, the urgency. Lowering his head, he lets the Princess tumble out from between his jaws. But the next second he pounces on her, pressing his heavy body compulsively to hers, keeping her still. Growling, he licks her throat, and a shudder of craving passes over him.

For a moment I simply stare, dumbfounded by the sight of my brother so obsessed, so maddened by his passion for a human girl. As much as it must frighten the Princess, it makes me strangely glad. Serylla has unlocked a part of him that I’ve never seen before. She has made him feel something besides grief, guilt, and responsibility.

“Be very still, Serylla,” I warn her. “Give him a moment.”

Then I lower my head and speak directly to Kyreagan, with the authority of the Bone-King in my tone. “My brother, if you don’t get your shit together, I will have to battle you myself, right now. You said yourself that no woman would be forced by a dragon.”

Before he can respond, Serylla lifts her head, her eyes bright with triumph. “It’s alright. He’s not forcing me into this. I choose him. I’m going with him.”

Kyreagan’s eyes widen and he withdraws, letting her climb to her feet. Serylla places her hand on his nose, a gesture of calm and comfort. “He’ll be alright now,” she tells me. “Thank you.”

As I bow to her, I catch a familiar scent and turn to see Jessiva coming toward me. She’s smiling brightly—too brightly. Frequent mating with her has taught me to interpret the shape of her eyes, the tension of her jaw, the quivers and twists of her mouth, the angle of her head. Something isn’t right with her. Either she is truly planning to kill me, or she has done something else that’s causing her pain and regret. Guilt leaks through that beautiful smile of hers and aches behind the sparkle of her eyes.

Last night, when we were in the hollow, I thought I smelled traces of another dragon on her, but I assumed she came into brief contact with one earlier in the day, or that another male had been in the meadow and left his scent on the grass. But perhaps, when she was out of my sight, she became close to someone else, and she is now scheming against me.

Jessiva starts to speak, but I intercept her with soft, venomous words. “What have you done, darling?”