Page 7 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

Jessiva leaves me and walks over to speak with two of the other women. All of our captives seem to be in a much better mood now that they have washed and eaten. The fires seem to lift their spirits as well, providing light and warmth. I’m embarrassed for my clan that we were so ill-prepared to care for the humans last night. My brother’s plan was a surprise, a shock to all of us, and though we joined with him enthusiastically, we should have done more research first. At minimum we should have realized that the women would require more warmth and coverings than dragons do. But all of us were exhausted from the war, weak with shock, thoughtless from the sheer pain of our grief. Perhaps that is some excuse for the way we treated our captives.

At least we are attempting to remedy the negligence now, and the women seem to appreciate it. Though they still startle when we move swiftly, they aren’t screaming at our approach anymore.

I wish Kyreagan would have stayed longer to witness what we’ve accomplished here, but he is trapped in his own head, locked in a cage of grief, guilt, and anger. I know him, and I know I can’t break him out of it. He’ll have to come out on his own, and I trust that he will. Allowing him to have one day to himself was the least I could do. Tomorrow, neither of us will have a choice about facing our responsibilities again. We must meet with the King of Vohrain and confirm that he is turning over the Middenwold Isles to us, as our new hunting grounds. Those islands will be the salvation of our species—a reprieve from the looming threat of starvation.

A soft trickle of variegated sound ripples through the air. I’ve heard something similar before. Lorgrin, my grandfather, was an artist and a creator of beautiful things, one of which is the Pipes of Lorgrin on the Singing Isle, some distance from Ouroskelle. He chiseled and hollowed a series of rock formations so they make music when the wind blows through them and around them. With claws or tongue, a dragon can seal some of the holes and change the pitch of the sounds, creating a tune. My mother and I visited the spot many times, and she told me there was a rumor of a musical cavern Lorgrin designed for Grimmaw.

If there was such a cave, my grandparents kept its location private. The knowledge died with Grimmaw.

The music I’m hearing now reminds me of the Pipes of Lorgrin, though it’s smaller and thinner, produced by a set of reed pipes held to the lips of a human woman. Another woman lifts a small wooden contraption to her shoulder and slides a stick across it. The noise that emerges from the device surprises me. It’s little more than a screech at first, but after some adjustments, the instrument produces a singing sound.

“A fiddle,” says Hinarax eagerly, advancing to stand beside me. “We heard fiddle music a couple times on the mainland, don’t you remember?”

“It does sound vaguely familiar,” I admit. “But you spent more time lurking around the humans’ campfires than I did.”

“Of course.” He bumps my shoulder playfully. “You were always the dutiful brother, following your siblings and sharing their disdain for human culture.”

The comment unsettles me. I dislike being constantly perceived in relation to my family, as if my worth lies solely in uplifting and strengthening them. Kyreagan is the one family member I have left, and it seems I have already fallen into the role of his loyal second-in-command, purveyor of his orders and defender of his choices.

I love him, but I am more than my love for him.

The women with the fiddle and the pipe consult briefly with Jessiva, and they begin to play a soft, wistful tune that soars through the air, amplified by the rocks and the mountain itself, echoing through the entire valley. A third woman turns over two empty clay pots and beats an accompanying rhythm on them.

The music intensifies, surging in the night and reverberating in my very soul until I can barely keep still. With a delighted growl, Hinarax joins in, beating time with his feet. Two other dragons do the same, their rhythmic footfalls shaking the ground. A couple of the women begin to hum, a low, passionate sound, vibrant with doleful longing.

I can hardly breathe, can scarcely believe what I’m witnessing. It’s like the casting of a spell, a sinuous weaving of magic, invisible cords slithering around us, binding us together with our captives in the fervency of this moment.

Jessiva moves gracefully into the glow of the firelight, each foot carefully posed, each step a measured thought, her bare toes pointed, legs rigidly graceful. She has tied her blue skirts around her waist, leaving her lean legs bare, and as she steps, I can see every defined muscle along those pale legs.

Her body sways compulsively with the music. She drops to the ground, then rises in a slow arch, a steady pull as if she’s being lifted upright by an invisible string. Her arms sweep through the gloom, gilded with firelight, carving emotion in the air like I might carve poetry on the walls of a cave with my claws. She is writing a story with her body, and it’s a language I understand on a primal level, deep as the blood pounding in the channels of my heart.

“By the Bone-Builder, she’s beautiful,” murmurs a dragon to my right, and my head whips toward him, a snarl rippling in my throat.

“She’s mine,” I growl.

He looks at me, eyes widening, and retreats a pace. “My apologies, Prince. I did not know you had claimed her.”

The pace of the music increases and Jessiva’s hair whips around her as she moves in tandem with the beat. Her hips are looser now, rolling and swerving in a way that makes me searing hot all over.

The infinite void inside me crackles and tightens, an aching emptiness corroding my very soul. When she’s dancing like this, I want more intensely than I’ve ever wanted before. Some irrational part of me believes that she is the only thing that can fill me up and complete the missing piece of myself that I’ve been hunting for all my life.

I slink forward, drawn by a violence I cannot master, a need I do not comprehend. The dragons’ feet stomp the ground, the fiddle sings, the pipes wail, and the women hum as Jessiva continues to dance. She’s watching me approach, two spots of bright color in her pale cheeks, her eyes wide and her false smile cracking at the edges. Her movements grow more frantic, more jerky, more violent, like she can sense the thunderous beating of my heart, the dark intent in my soul, the need in my gut.

I can feel the song building to its peak, and as it does, Jessiva spins wildly, carelessly, and crashes against me.

She catches herself, hands pressed to the broad scales shielding my chest, and she pushes herself back from me.

I lift my foreleg, cautiously running the tips of my claws through the red river of her hair, then placing one claw gently beneath her chin and tilting her face up. She’s flushed, her eyes starry and desperate.

I arch my neck, lowering my muzzle. Softly I touch my nose to her forehead.

Quiet gasps rise from the gathered women. The music and the stamping have stopped, and all is silent.

“Darling, come with me,” I murmur.

I sense resistance in her, but she glances around, evaluating our audience, calculating the risk and reward like the wise woman she is. She has been working hard all day to help these women feel more comfortable, less panicked. I know she still wants to return to her home on the mainland, yet she won’t jeopardize the tentative peace we’ve worked to establish here. It’s in everyone’s best interest for her to go with me willingly.

She lifts both arms to me, and I scoop her up in my right front claw with the greatest of care, holding her to my chest. I bound to the barrier and use it as leverage from which to leap, striking the air with my wings until we’re aloft.

As we rise, there’s silence at first, but after a few wingbeats I hear the music begin again, even more cheerful this time. Female voices rise in song as the captives continue to charm both the night and the dragons of my clan.

When we reach my cave, the dyre-stones I lit earlier are still aglow. I set her down and give them a fresh burst of heat. I emit void magic, not fire, but I also possess a type of purple lightning, and I can use the heat of that lightning to accomplish many of the same tasks other dragons perform with fire.

As the light flares up, Jessiva gasps faintly, and pleasure swells in my heart at the sound.

My cave was already beautiful, engraved with rows of Dragonish symbols, line upon line of poetry and lore. But where it was bare and empty before, now there is a large pallet of thick, soft grass, tightly compacted and overlaid with a giant piece of cloth—a tattered blue flag I stole from a shipwreck once.

No one ever knew that I took the flag or the figurehead I found bolted to the head of the ship. I was embarrassed to admit that I liked the statue—a naked woman with the tail of a fish. Both have remained hidden in a nook of my cave. All dragons contribute most of the treasure they find to our clan hoard, but it’s acceptable for us to keep a handful of special items for our private use.

I brought the flag here to create a sleeping space more appropriate for a human, and I set up the figurehead in the corner by way of a decoration. Over a flat rock, I laid four of the finest pieces of jewelry I’ve ever found. I scattered wildflowers over the sleeping area and filled the corners of the cave with them as well. They’re beginning to wilt, but they’re still beautiful.

“For you,” I tell my captive. “A woman so exquisite deserves a lovely place to rest.”

She cups slender fingers over her mouth and makes a low, broken sound. A tear trickles down her cheek.

Dread erases the joy from my soul, and I retreat, my wings going slack, head lowered in shame. “I’ve done it wrong. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not wrong,” she chokes out. “It’s beautiful. And I’m furious.”

“Furious?” I blink at her.

“I’ve received countless gifts from admirers.” She wipes her tears with the hem of her blue dress. “None of them were this sweet or this sincere. And I’m furious because no matter how much you seem to crave my happiness, you’re a hypocrite, just like every other man I’ve ever known. You want me for sex, for breeding. You refuse to take me home, and you want to change my body to suit your needs and preferences. No matter what you do or how much you pretend to care, you’re my enemy.”

A shudder of fervent resistance rolls through me from head to tail at the last few words. I pin my wings tightly against my sides and prowl toward her, forcing her to back up toward the makeshift bed.

“Your enemy,” I rumble. “Is that what I am?”

“Yes.” She’s small, vulnerable, quivering beneath the threat of my presence. I’ve never felt more wickedly powerful. Her scent has changed—it’s more vibrant and more lusciously liquid. It’s the same fragrance that bloomed over her body earlier today, when she touched me in the meadow.

My nostrils flicker, and I lower my muzzle to her belly, then nuzzle into her skirts, between her legs.

Jessiva strikes my nose with her fist. “Stop that.”

I recoil, even though her blow didn’t really hurt. “You smell different. Wetter and sweeter than usual. Like this morning.” Pleasure pulses through me, heavy and hot. “The fragrance is driving me mad.”

“You’re imagining things,” she says breathlessly.

“I have a more sensitive nose than most of my kind, and this scent is so strong I think any dragon would notice it. Tell me what it means. Please.”

She glances around at the vibrant dyre-stones, the colorful flowers, the statue, and the bed. Then she shakes her head despairingly and mutters, “Fuck it. I’ve given it up for less.”

My ears prick forward. “Given up what?”

“My body.” She sighs, rosy color deepening on her pale cheeks. “I think the scent you mentioned is me becoming aroused.”

“Aroused?”

“Yes, like you were this morning. It’s a sign of… sexual desire. Humans don’t smell it, not like you do, anyway. But I’m fairly sure that’s what you’re noticing.”

I can feel the weight of my cock pressing against my genital slit. In a moment, it will plunge out, thick and hard, making my unnatural desires obvious. But if I’m understanding her correctly, this beautiful human with the fiery hair has unnatural desires, too.

“You want me in this way?” I ask her. “Even though we’re so different? Why?” Perhaps in understanding her, I can better understand myself, and why I’ve always been so attracted to human females.

“Why?” She gives a sharp, short little laugh. “Maybe because you’re oddly sweet and compassionate for a dragon. And maybe because you’re obsessed with me—a man’s obsession has always been hard for me to resist. Or maybe it’s because no one has been obsessed with me in a long time… at least no one that I find attractive. Shit—I can’t even believe I said that out loud—that I’m attracted to a fucking dragon .”

“And you’re human, yet I dreamed of breeding you last night.” My voice lowers, tinged with a hint of shame. “In the dream, you were not in dragon form. You were like this. Fucking your human body is not possible, and yet I desire it. I crave the fragrance of your desire, the softness of your flesh, the taste of your skin.”

Jessiva inhales… a long, shaking breath. Then she leans back on the flag-covered bed, propped on her elbows. She parts her legs and curls her fingers into her skirts, drawing them upward, slowly uncovering her thighs.

“What’s the harm?” she whispers, as if to herself. “Just once.”

The delicious scent suddenly intensifies as she unveils the space between her legs. With a low growl of eagerness I touch my nose to her center. Her genitals are still covered by a thin bit of damp cloth, but I let my tongue flicker out, slicking the fabric against her flesh. Her breath hitches, and she moans, half-delighted and half-angry, as if she’s still fighting with herself.

“I want you naked,” I tell her quietly. “Remove your clothing and let me see you.”

“Fuck,” she whispers, but she gets off the bed and obeys me, stripping off every piece of clothing.

Her body is lean and elegant. Despite the defined muscles of her arms and legs, she is so vulnerable compared to me—so tantalizingly delicate. One of the plump mounds on her chest is uncovered, but her hair spills over the other. I want to see them both.

“Move your hair,” I command.

Jessiva’s eyes flash, but she does as I ask. I let out a long, satisfied groan and sit back on my haunches, wings arched and my tail thrashing restlessly.

Never have I enjoyed the privilege of admiring a naked human woman for this long, at such close quarters. My cock has fully extruded, jutting out between my forelegs. It angles upward, leaking trickles of clear liquid from its tip.

“My lust for human females is my greatest shame,” I confess. “I used to look for naked humans along the beaches of the mainland, and I have seen a number of women unclothed… but you are the most exquisite.”

“How kind of you.” Her tone is dry, but not as sharp as usual.

“Those beautiful round things… what are they called?”

“Breasts,” she replies. “Or tits, if you want to be a bit crude.”

“Breasts,” I murmur.

We remain as we are, her standing naked by the bed and me sitting in pleasurable agony, reveling in each pulse of aching need through my cock.

Jessiva appears to be growing restless. “So… do you simply want to look ? Or do you want relief?”

“Relief?”

“Satisfaction. Pleasure.” When I tilt my head, confused, she sighs. “Do you want me to get you off?”

“I don’t understand.”

“God, you poor thing.” She laughs a little, as if my lack of understanding pleases her. Her body relaxes, the angles of her shoulders and limbs softening. “I suppose I’ll have to teach you what’s possible. But then you must promise to do something for me.”

“I can’t let you go.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” she says. “My request is simple. Having so many dragons around the women’s cavern is distressing for them. Post a single guard over us if you must, but tell the other dragons to keep their distance during the day. Allow us to have some time there alone, in peace.”

As she said, it’s a simple, reasonable request. “Very well.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes catch the light of the dyre-stones as she walks toward me, her steps light and measured, yet purposeful… and I realize that in this moment, I am not the predator. She is.

My skin tightens beneath my scales as she comes to me, naked, and steps between my front legs. Defensive fear lurches in my gut, and I fight the instinct to snap her up between my jaws and throw her out of my cave, as if she’s actually a threat to me. As if I couldn’t annihilate her with a single void orb.

The fear spiking in my chest is as primal as it gets—fear of the unknown. Fear of an experience I don’t understand and cannot control. Fear of finally receiving what I crave, and finding it a disappointment. Fear of losing what I can’t get back. The fears lash around my mind, my body, and my instincts, like the tongues of the voratrice that devoured my mother.

I lost her because I was a fool, because I couldn’t control myself, because I was terrified of my own power, because—

“Varex.” Jessiva speaks my name firmly, and I realize I’m trembling.

“You deserve a better dragon.” I force the words out through my teeth. “One who isn’t broken.”

“Want to know a secret?” She looks up at me, then places her hand on my chest. “I’m broken too.”