Page 6 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

I scarcely understand why I’m doing this. Yes, I want to discover his weaknesses and use them to my advantage, but it’s more than that. I’m taking a perverse pleasure in taunting him. I’m enjoying his shame, his suffering, his desire. It’s wicked of me, I suppose, but it’s no more than he deserves after what he has done.

If he told me to stop touching him, I would. Yet he seems incapable of resisting, prisoner to whatever he feels when I run my palm along the satiny skin of the giant dragon cock. It’s about the size of my leg, far too long and thick to fit inside any human. Stretching out my arm, I touch the bulbous head of it.

He shudders violently, and a low whine slips from his jaws.

And, fuck… just like that, I’m wet.

It’s the allure of power, I think. I’m used to other people holding sway over me—the Queen, the palace entertainment manager, my troupe leader, the owners of the tenement house, Lord Neran, my brother. Even my sister and the children hold a kind of power over me. I am never quite free from duty, from responsibility.

Yet here, in the gentle haze of the morning sunlight, beneath the jeweled canopy of the leaves, I have power. Maybe not enough to convince the dragon to carry me home, but it’s enough to make him stay and shiver with delicious misery at my touch. Enough to elicit that needy whine from this enormous, powerful creature.

He craves pleasure. He’s broken, grieving, confused, lost… he feels like he doesn’t fit in, like he’s an anomaly. He blames himself for his mother’s death, and that’s an old guilt, a bitterness whose flavor I know all too well.

When I told him I was looking for his weak spots, I didn’t necessarily mean just the physical ones. All of the information I’ve gleaned can be used to manipulate him. It’s been far too easy to gain his trust and get him talking. He’s starved for someone to listen to him, to see him. It’s pitiful—as pathetic as the way he closes his eyes and whimpers for me as I keep petting his cock.

“If you take me home, I promise to make you feel even better than this,” I murmur. “Will you do that for me, pretty dragon? Take me home, and I will strip for you, dance for you, make you come all over my body. Would you like that?”

His eyes fly open and his head swivels around to stare at me. “You would sell your body to me for safe passage home?”

“It’s a bargain. A trade. I promise you would have a good time.”

“Perhaps, but I would lose you afterward,” he says. “If you stay here and become a dragon, we can be together for years, as life-mates. I will build you the finest nest, and—”

“I don’t want to be your life-mate,” I interrupt, removing my hand from his cock. “Nor do I wish to be a dragon. This is the body I was born with, the body in which I learned to dance.”

“It is frail,” he points out, nodding to my walking stick.

“Nevertheless, it’s mine. I don’t want another one. I don’t want to become a great hulking beast who can’t dance, ever again.” My voice cracks, despair and panic writhing up my throat to choke me.

“Dragons can dance,” he replies eagerly. “The males of my kind perform a dance for the females every mating season.”

“So… you dance once every twenty-five years?”

He shifts his footing. “We practice the dance occasionally.”

“It’s not the same, and if you can’t understand that, you’re a fool.” I spin around and limp away from him, back toward the clearing where we slept.

His footfalls thump behind me, muffled by the thick grass. “You need food and something to help your leg.”

“It’s my ankle. I just need to rewrap it. There’s a fresh cloth in my bag, along with food. It’s more food than I can use, actually, provided it’s still edible. I should share some of it with the other captives. Your friend, Rothkuri—he said some of the women were being kept on the ground, in a cavern?”

“Yes. We can fetch your bag from my cave, and then I’ll take you to the others, if you like. You can spend time with your own people while I make you a nest.”

I turn to face him and instantly catch my breath. While he’s behind me, talking in that smooth, rich voice, it’s easy to forget what he is—how big he is. He towers over me, especially when he sits on his haunches with his neck lifted. The sinuous length of that neck is strangely attractive, and there’s a sleek elegance to the shape of his tapered head.

During our conversation, he managed to regain control over himself, and his cock is hidden again, retracted into his genital slit. With the glossy black of his scales and the dappled shadows of the forest, I can’t even see where his cock emerged.

The dragon arches his wings and tilts his head, as if he’s wondering why I haven’t replied. “Are you well, little one?”

“Stop calling me that. Call me Jessiva.”

“Jessiva,” he murmurs in that rich, silken voice, and a delighted shiver runs over me. I suspect it was a mistake to give him my name.

“I am Varex,” he says. “Prince of Ouroskelle, brother to Kyreagan, son of the Bone-King Arzhaling. And I am your devoted servant.”

“My captor, you mean.”

Warmth pools in his eyes and his neck ripples forward, bringing his sleek muzzle close to my face. “I belong to you as completely as you belong to me. I will serve you in all ways. I would give up my very life for your sake. Only do not ask me to be parted from you.”

My face grows hot, and my stomach dissolves into quivering butterflies. No man has ever spoken to me in that way. Even when I was at the peak of my career, none of my admirers spoke such words of devotion—certainly none so pure, fervent, and sincere.

“We’ll have to part ways for a little while,” I say. “I would like to spend time with the other women.”

“As you wish.”

I take a moment to relieve myself in a thicket, and when I return, he tucks me neatly into his front claws and pushes himself off the ground with his strong back legs. His giant wings unfold, pounding the air, lifting us into the sky.

Rising high into the bright morning is unexpectedly exhilarating. For a moment, I forget about everything except mountain peaks bathed in the glow of the sun, puffy white clouds floating like islands in the blue sky, and glimpses of glittering ocean below, off to my right. The island is a wilderness of peaks and valleys, green meadows and gray cliffs, thick forests and sparkling streams. The vivid colors pierce my heart like arrows, because if I were here for different reasons, I would love this place.

But I can’t allow myself to love anything while my family languishes in a dingy apartment, confused by my absence, terrified of the invading forces of Vohrain. How will they survive without me? Bryon and Loram are too selfish and incompetent to manage things, and my sister has never taken initiative or leadership in her life. The children are intelligent, but they don’t always know when to be quiet and when to hide, when to fight and when to run.

“See there,” says Varex, bobbing his head in the direction of a broad green plain. Five dragons are moving there, placing white objects in wave-like patterns. “They are laying out the bones of the females who perished here on the island.”

“You don’t bury them?”

“No. We admire them until they sink into the earth, or until grass and flowers conceal them. Their strength becomes part of the island.”

“It’s a beautiful ritual,” I say. “But what if there is a dragon you don’t admire, or don’t wish to remember? Does that ever happen?”

“What do you mean?”

I bite my lower lip for a second before answering. “My parents were cruel and selfish. When they died, I didn’t want to remember or honor them. I wish I could forget them.”

“There are selfish, cruel dragons, too, but they are rare. If one of us behaves in such a way, the clan intervenes to correct the behavior,” says Varex. “We are taught from the egg to live in a way that benefits all dragons and improves the quality of life for our fellow creatures.”

We stop by his cave so I can get my bag and re-wrap my ankle. Then he carries me through the valley to the cavern Rothkuri spoke of. There’s a large pasture or courtyard in front of the enormous cave mouth, and the space is enclosed by a tightly packed wall of stones, branches, and hardened mud.

“We kept flocks here once,” says Varex. “The wall was built to keep out the fenwolves. They have infested the island. Their dens lie deep in the forests or in rocky clefts where we dragons cannot go, so we have been unable to purge them from the island. They’re mad, half-starved creatures who take prey indiscriminately, without reason or care.” He chuffs angrily, two puffs of heated lavender mist emanating from his snout.

“Your size and shape make many things difficult, I imagine. If you were human, you could go into the clefts and hunt the wolves. You could have more flocks, more herds… maybe even gardens. Humans can craft complex items, design machines, read and write books.”

“I’m aware of what humans can do,” he says tightly.

“And you want me to give up all those possibilities for a scaly hide and a pair of wings?”

He growls, then mutters, “What are they doing?”

I follow his gaze and notice several dragons prowling around within the enclosure. Occasionally one approaches the cave mouth and is greeted with screams from inside, whereupon the dragon retreats to mutter and growl with his companions.

“They’re scaring the women,” I say.

“I doubt they intend to,” he replies. “They are merely curious. Those females will be their mates soon. The dragons want to make their acquaintance.”

“And it’s going so well, clearly.”

Even as I speak, two dragons creep cautiously toward the cave. When they’re greeted with screeches of terror, their spikes and ears flatten, and they slink away again.

Varex angles downward toward the enclosure, skimming over the ground and letting me roll gently from his claws before he lands a short distance away. He turns immediately, coming back to check on me as I rise from the ground, brushing bits of dead grass from my blue dress.

I wish he wouldn’t be so fucking sweet. If he were rougher with me, it would be easier to hate him.

Drawn by our arrival, a group of women venture toward the mouth of the cave. By my count, there are roughly two dozen of them. I’m not sure how many more were taken to other caves. All of them look disheveled, frightened, and hungry.

I scan the group quickly. I recognize no one at first—until a tall blonde woman with rich brown skin emerges from the shadows.

I know her instantly. Lady Falima. She’s Lord Neran’s wife… or rather, she was, until his affairs with various women of the court became too much for her to bear and she left him. I remember seeing her at Lord Neran’s side for many of my performances a few years ago. He flirted with me right in front of her several times, while she maintained a bright, hard smile, not unlike the smile I wear when I’m performing.

I will admit, I flirted back. I encouraged Lord Neran’s attention. I accepted the gifts he sent and flaunted them publicly, even when Falima was present. I was young, and I gloried in my beauty, my talent, and my favored position at court.

Lord Neran was to blame for indulging his lust, but I was cruelly insensitive in my actions. When I recall some of the things I said and did right in front of his young wife, I want to sink into the ground, overcome with shame.

She recognizes me, too. I see it in the flex of her jaw, the flash of her eyes, the resentful compression of her lips.

I want to tell her that I’ve changed. I’ve grown older. The version of me that exists now would never behave the way I used to.

But I did fuck her ex-husband for money the night before last, so perhaps we should avoid the topic, and each other.

“What do you need, Jessiva?” asks Varex.

I tear my gaze away from Falima and survey the group of dirty, anxious women again. They remind me of children, lost and scared. No one has stepped forward to take charge, to reassure them, to organize the available resources and take care of basic needs. All of that needs to happen before we can effectively plan our escape.

“Is there water in the cave?” I ask.

“Yes, there is a stream and a pool.”

“Good. We need stones to make fire rings, and we need firewood, lots of it. Do you have any meat we can cook?”

“I can send a few of the other dragons to hunt. Perhaps we can spare one of the cows from the southern meadows.”

“Cows, you say? Do any of them have calves? Could we get some milk? Perhaps one of your dragons could carry one or two women to fetch milk. We’ll need something to put it in. I have a bottle in my bag, but perhaps a bucket or a bowl would be better.”

“It shall be done.” Varex ducks his head in assent. “Anything else?”

I walk forward and peer into the cavern. It’s empty except for a few scattered personal belongings—whatever the women happened to have with them when they were taken.

“Beds,” I tell Varex. “We need beds. Grass pallets will do. We’ll need the supplies to make them—plenty of fresh, long grass, and some vines to tie the grasses together.”

I step closer, and he instinctively moves his face nearer to mine as I lower my voice. “Get the male dragons out of this enclosure. Give them jobs to do. If the dragons are helping us, the women will be less scared of them. Tell your clan that when the captives are fed, clean, and warm, they’ll feel more like chatting.”

Varex slides his muzzle along my cheek, his jaws right next to my ear. His voice is a low, soothing rumble, almost a purr. “You are as wise as you are beautiful.”

Heart fluttering, I shove him away. “Go.”

He chuckles, a sparkle in his amber eyes, then bounds over to the other dragons and begins to give them orders.

I walk forward, brace both my hands on my hips, and address the women. “So we’ve been stolen by dragons. It’s fucking miserable, yes?”

They nod and murmur anxiously in response.

“Lucky for you, the dragon who captured me is one of the leaders of the clan, and he’s going to help us. But I need your help too. We have to prepare some food, clean ourselves up, and make this place livable.”

A sharp voice rises from the group. “Are you saying we should resign ourselves to this fate?”

“Far from it.” I glance over my shoulder at the dragons. A few of them are already taking off, flying over the wall in search of the things I requested.

“Before we can plan anything else, we need baths, food, and a comfortable place to sleep tonight,” I announce. “The dragons are fetching supplies. Some of us will make the fires, others will cook, and others will make grass pallets for beds. But first—please bring forward any extra resources you may have brought with you. We’ll pool them together and ration them.”

I step into the cave and empty my own bag on the floor, which inspires other women to bring forward any items they don’t immediately need for themselves. None of them question my arrival or the way I’ve taken charge. They needed someone to step up and set them to work. People feel far less powerless and afraid when they’re doing something useful.

Another advantage of good, hard work is the quick passage of time. The day races by as we work together to transform the cavern into a temporary refuge.

During our bathing hours, two of us stand at the cave entrance to warn off any dragons. One of the women has a bar of soap, and we each use a little of it as we bathe. Another does haircuts and shaves for a living, so we make use of the scissors and the straight razor she carried with her in a leather pouch. Being clean immediately brightens everyone’s mood, and we move on to the tasks of making two campfires, preparing the food we have, and crafting pallets for sleeping.

Two of the women volunteer to fly with a couple of dragons to the southern meadows. The dragons provide a clay pot, a scavenged jar, and a dented bucket to hold the milk.

They also bring us a fat doe, which we have to butcher ourselves. I have no experience with such things, having always purchased meat at a market, but one of the women grew up on a farm and is quite familiar with the process, so we leave the skinning, bleeding, and gutting to her. She seems to prefer that work to the tedious task of making pallets.

All too soon, the shadows of the mountains grow long, throwing our protective enclosure into gloom. But the campfires are bright, fed from an immense pile of sticks and logs the dragons brought us. It was almost charming how keen they were to help us once we told them what we needed. They are gigantic and imposing, yet many of them have a dog-like energy and enthusiasm when it comes to serving us.

Varex returns at sunset, bringing with him a battered cooking pot and a cast-iron pan. I have no idea where he found them, but I’m delighted. I hand them to the three women who have volunteered to make tonight’s meal, which will be well-seasoned thanks to the partly crushed herbs from my bag.

“The pot and pan will make cooking the venison so much easier,” I tell Varex. “Thank you.”

Weariness hangs upon him, and his wings drag limply in the dirt, but at my thanks, he brightens. “I am pleased you like them. Do you need anything else?”

So many things. A few of the women are in their cycle and require cloths for the bleeding. We need pillows, blankets, towels, clean clothes, shoes, and soap. But Varex appears exhausted, so I don’t mention any of it. I need him fed and refreshed so he can fly me back to the mainland tomorrow—providing I can convince him to do it.

Much as I’d like to help the other women escape, I’m not responsible for them. My priority is protecting and providing for my family. If I get the chance to escape alone, I’ll take it, without a second’s hesitation.

“Have you eaten?” I ask Varex.

He looks surprised, and his eyes soften. “No.”

“You should go find prey. Maybe one of the other dragons has something left over to share with you, if you don’t have the energy to hunt.”

“You are being kind to me again,” he says, wry humor in his tone. “Which means I can expect your anger to resurface at any moment. Permit me a few seconds to bask in the glow of your favor before it dissipates.” He noses nearer to me, his hot breath warming my cheek.

I make a frustrated sound and shove his muzzle away from my face.

“Ah, there it goes,” he says. “No matter, I like you just as well when you’re cruel.” And he swipes my cheek with the tip of his tongue before leaping away.

“Fuck you, dragon,” I whisper, struggling to keep a smile from overtaking my face.

The venison smells delicious as it’s roasting, and once it’s done, the blue dragon Rothkuri volunteers to deliver portions to the women in other caves. He takes a sizable portion to his girl, then returns and approaches me. “Could you wrap up a fine piece of the meat for the Princess?”

“The Princess?” Shock rushes along my limbs, raising goosebumps. “You mean Princess Serylla of Elekstan? She’s here on the island?”

“Indeed.” He dips his head. “Prince Kyreagan took her to his cave.”

“Well, fuck. That’s interesting.”

“They are not getting along at all.” Rothkuri blinks at me. “I would like to make her feel more welcome.”

“How considerate of you.” I carve a piece of venison and wrap it in a scrap of cloth. Fabric and clothing are in short supply, but we can spare a bit of it on behalf of the Princess.

I shouldn’t continue the conversation with Rothkuri, but I’m too curious to resist. “Your captive seems happy with you. Why is that, do you think?”

“She was never appreciated by her husband,” he says. “Not the way that I appreciate her. With my tongue.”

“With your—oh.” I swallow hard. “And where do you… appreciate her?”

“Between her legs. She has such plump, soft legs, and the genitals between them are so pink and wet and delicious—”

“Oh god—I’ve heard enough.” I shove the wrapped venison toward him. “Take this to the Princess.”

Rothkuri departs, and I place both hands over my cheeks, conscious of how hot and flushed they are. Taking a portion of meat, I limp a short distance away from the fire and sit down.

I’ve been on my feet most of the day, and my ankle is complaining with a continuous ache and occasional stabs of sharp pain. Once I’ve finished devouring the delicious venison, I massage my ankle a bit, trying to ease the taut muscles.

One of the women approaches. She’s taller than the rest of us, with light brown skin, hair braided along the crown of her head, and the toned body of a warrior. She was wearing armor earlier, but removed it during the course of the afternoon.

She crouches beside me. “I have something for you,” she says in an undertone. “Please don’t mention it to the others—I can’t spare much. But I noticed you’re in pain. It’s your ankle?”

“Yes.”

“If we have to run at any point, you should have a fair chance. Take this.” She places a tablet in my palm.

“What is it?”

“A healing spell.”

“What?” I whisper, shocked. “These cost more than most people make in a year. I can’t accept this.”

“Do you really think money matters now?” She rises. “Chew it thoroughly before you swallow it. You’ll be good as new within the hour.”

I stare at her back as she walks away. Part of me is deeply grateful, and part of me feels oddly resentful that this type of generosity has only entered my life now, when everything has gone to shit, rather than sooner. My family and I could have used the purchase price of this single healing tablet to better our lives. We could have paid our rent for months.

For some reason, catastrophic circumstances tend to bring out latent generosity in people who have been hoarding resources for years. If more of Elekstan’s nobility had been generous with their wealth, would our kingdom have fallen to Vohrain? I suppose the answer is yes, thanks to the dragons. Although if the nobles really cared about the rest of us, perhaps they would have forced the Queen to surrender to Vohrain before so much of our population was fed to the furnace of war.

If the woman who gave me the tablet was a warrior, she must have been an elite one, perhaps a knight. I’m experienced enough with palace politics to know that expensive healing tablets were not standard issue for the Queen’s army—and she had two of them.

Whatever her role might have been, one of her tablets is mine now. I place it in my mouth and crush it to chalky powder between my teeth. It tastes horrible, so I fetch a couple of tiny radishes from the food stash and rub off the dirt before crunching them. They’re fairly effective at erasing the foul taste of the pill.

I return to my seat, a little apart from the others, and wait for the healing tablet to take effect and the pain in my ankle to abate. Without realizing I’m looking for him, I locate Varex’s slender form by the barrier. He’s with two other dragons, pinning the carcass of a goat in place with his front claws, tugging at a strand of raw red meat with his sharp white teeth.

A rushing sound overhead catches my attention, and the campfires gutter as a great black dragon lands in the courtyard. He speaks a few words to Varex, gathers a clump of firewood in his claws, and takes off again without acknowledging anyone else.

Varex glances toward me, and upon catching my eye, he paces over, licking the blood of his dinner from his scaly lips.

“Who was that?” I ask him quietly.

“Kyreagan.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“He seems like an asshole.”

Varex chuckles. “He may not always be pleasant, but he has a good heart. He is kind, wise, and strong, but he is bearing greater burdens than usual right now, and that can affect the demeanor of the very best of dragons. I left him alone today, but he will need me tomorrow.”

“I’m happy to stay with them.” I nod toward the other women.

He hesitates, surveying the group. “Do you wish to remain here tonight? If you prefer that, I understand. But I did make you something, back in our cave… something you might enjoy, if you would care to spend the night with me.”

“You made something? Is it a nest?”

“Better.” His eyes are alight, and his jaws open slightly, showing his long tongue. It’s as close to a smile as possible for a dragon.

I can’t remember the last time a man made me a gift. When I was more popular at court, men used to buy me things, but it’s been ages since someone crafted or created an item with me in mind. The excitement radiating from Varex makes a tender, amused joy well up inside me. It feels like yielding, like weakness, and I hate it.

And yet… I can’t bear to disappoint him.

“I’ll go with you,” I say. “But not yet. I want to stay a little longer and try to cheer everyone up.”

“How will you do that?” he asks.

I rise from my spot, testing my ankle and finding that it’s completely healed—not a twinge of pain. For the first time, I give the dragon prince a real smile. “I’ll do it with dance.”