Page 9 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

I take Jessiva to the cavern just before dawn. She does not want anyone to know that my cum and arousal have slicked her skin. She does not wish to smell like me.

I understand. After all, I am a great clumsy beast with a spiked tail and vicious claws that could easily slice her tender flesh. I am a killer of her people, an enemy. She is beautiful, graceful, and sharp-tongued, with the eyes of a huntress, hair the color of blood, and the inner strength of a hundred males.

We land in the enclosure outside the cavern, then creep past the sleeping women to the back of the cave, where there’s a stream and a shallow pool. Jessiva slips down from her perch on my back.

“Wait a moment,” I hiss before she steps into the pool. I open my throat and let some of my lightning fork out between my fangs, striking the water. It sizzles on the surface, producing steam.

“It should be warmer now,” I tell her. “Careful. Test it first.”

She waits a moment, then puts a toe in.

I want to bite those tasty little toes.

“It’s hot,” she says, looking up at me in delight. “Just right.” She steps in, then sits down and scoops the water over her body. She uses something called “soap,” too. Only a little, though, because it is apparently in short supply.

The night we took the women, my brother sent two dragons, Ashvelon and Fortunix, back to the mainland to kidnap the sorceress Thelise, the one who might be able to turn humans into female dragons. Kyreagan told Ashvelon and Fortunix to fetch some supplies for the women as well. Hopefully they will bring more soap, since our captives seem to require it often.

When Jessiva has finished bathing, she walks out of the cavern naked and stands by one of the dying campfires to dry herself. I don’t want the dragon guard who’s circling overhead to see her naked, so I fly up to him and order him to go hunting for the women’s breakfast.

I return to the enclosure and find Jessiva raking her fingers through her tangled hair.

“I wish I had a comb,” she says despairingly. “Here, you help me. Work your claws through it gently , until most of the tangles are gone.” She plants her bare ass on a rock and keeps working on some of the crimson locks, while I clumsily try to help with the rest.

By the time the sun rises, she’s more or less satisfied with the state of her hair. She braids it tightly, then puts on the same dress she wore yesterday.

The guard dragon, Gosrik, returns with a pig. Jessiva rouses a few of the women to help her prepare the animal, and the other captives begin to stir as well.

I can smell my own cum on myself—a rich, heavy, musky scent, and I’m afraid someone will notice it. I kept downwind of Gosrik when I first spoke to him, and when he returns with the pig, I leave him to guard the women while I go to bathe in the sea. The salty scent of the ocean will purge any telltale odor from my hide.

I land on the beach and hesitate there, watching the glow of the pink dawn sky fade into the yellow of morning.

My sister Vylar loved playing in the surf, from the time we could leave the cave until the very day before we left for war. Skilled commander and strategist though she was, she turned into a joyful hatchling whenever her claws struck sand. She would dive straight into the center of enormous waves that made Kyreagan and I flinch. And she always fought her way free, no matter how viciously the sea tugged at her wings and tried to claim her with its currents.

It’s unbearably cruel that she was brought down by the spell of a distant enemy, one she couldn’t face head-on. The Supreme Sorcerer of Elekstan was a fucking coward, and the most cowardly part of his spell is that it killed him. We learned of his spell and his death from one of Vohrain’s spies as we flew from Guilhorn to the capital.

His demise meant that we could not be directly avenged upon him. But we can use his daughter, the sorceress Thelise, to partly repair the damage he did… provided we can persuade her to comply.

I plunge into the sea, lowering my body into the surf, letting it wash away the traces of what Jessiva and I did last night. In the light of morning, our sexual frenzy feels like a dream. And yet it was real. Though mating season has not yet arrived, I have released seed twice with a human female.

I know I must conceal this from the other males. They would look at me strangely, shrink away from me, and wonder what sickness grips my mind. The knowledge would undermine my authority with them, and I cannot afford to lose their respect. Kyreagan needs me at his side, keeping the clan together, managing things when he cannot.

Moving deeper into the sea, I bathe my wings in the foaming water, careful not to let any powerful currents take hold of me. The ebb and flow of the sea is soothing, and I stand in the surf far longer than I planned to, imagining that I can hear Vylar’s distant laugh over the rush of the waves. When dragons die, our spirits return to the air, but if I know my sister, she would find some way to become part of the sea.

Perhaps I’ll see her again in the rays of the sunlight on the ocean. In the lightning of the next spring storm, I’ll see Mordessa, the golden dragon who would have been my brother’s mate. In the campfires of our captives, I’ll see the orange of Grimmaw’s fire.

But my mother’s spirit did not escape to the air. It was swallowed by the voratrice who killed her, trapped deep under the earth in pain and darkness, imprisoned while her bones dissolved in the monster’s belly.

I have never been able to conquer the horror of her death. It visits me at night, in my dreams, and it gnaws at me by day, under the glare of the sun. It corrodes every bit of joy I find in life, every moment of rest, every morsel of pleasure.

If only I could be sure that her spirit had managed to escape, to be free—maybe then I could find some peace.

I used to visit the den of the voratrice that killed her, waiting for the creature to emerge so I could slay it. But my father found out and commanded me never to approach that spot again. “Do you think I want to lose you as well?” he roared, and Vylar wept, begging me never to go back there.

Out of loyalty to them both, I haven’t returned to the den since the Bone-King died. Kyreagan needs me. The clan needs me. I am the loyal brother, the steady hand, the quiet encouragement for anyone who needs my support. I am not a leader, a savior, or an avenger of my people.

A torrent of acidic sorrow and self-hatred explodes through my chest. I plunge deeper into the ocean, throw my head up, and bellow my agony to the sky.

The crashing surf covers the sound. The ocean won’t betray my weakness to my clan. It will swallow my frantic grief and my helpless fury so I can return to the others and keep pretending I’m not angry like Kyreagan, that I don’t grieve as deeply as Kyreagan, that I’m kinder and softer and weaker than Kyreagan— fuck —

I roar again, and this time a giant piece of the emptiness in my soul tears away and launches out through my throat, rocketing into the air. The void orb inhales a swirl of sand and a spray of seawater, then implodes on itself with a concussive crack that dulls my hearing for a moment.

Sometimes I want to swallow the world, inhale everything into myself. Maybe then I would not feel so perpetually, horrifically empty. Maybe then I would have peace, because I would be nothing . I would remember nothing—not the snap of my mother’s wing bones and her neck, not the sight of Vylar impaled on the high tower of Guilhorn. Not the light going out of my father’s eyes, or the sight of Kyreagan trembling against the cliffside on the night we took bone tribute. I have never seen him so broken as he was then. I remember how the fire dripped from his jaws instead of igniting, how he breathed so fast that I was afraid he might die in a panic, right there on the cliff, and leave me to rule the clan alone.

If I died, I wouldn’t have to remember that moment, ever again. Perhaps it would be a relief to not exist.

But last night I experienced joys and pleasures that were altogether new. There are wonders I have not yet seen, delights I have yet to taste. If I had given up after the death of my mother, if I had ceased to exist, I would never have met Jessiva.

I’ve stayed here long enough. It is time to return to my darling, and have the joy of seeing her face again.

As I emerge from the waves and shake myself on the sand, I spot two shadows gliding along the beach. When I look up, I recognize the silhouettes—Ashvelon and Fortunix. Both are carrying large bundles in their claws, and there’s a woman on Ashvelon’s back.

I bound along the beach and take off, soaring upward and coming abreast of the two dragons.

“You have the sorceress?” I call to Ashvelon.

“Yes. We are taking her to my cave,” he replies.

“I will tell Kyreagan.”

For a moment longer I glide with them, observing the woman Ashvelon is carrying. Her skin is the brown of sun-warmed rocks, and her hair is much darker. She kisses her hand to me playfully before renewing her grip on Ashvelon’s spikes.

This is Thelise, daughter of the Supreme Sorcerer, the witch who is going to turn my exquisite girl into a dragon.

I try to imagine Jessiva in dragon form. Perhaps she will have scarlet scales and golden-brown eyes. She will be sleek, hard, covered in spikes, with huge wings.

She will be… not the same.

I will miss her. I will mourn her. No more lovely, soft, human flesh. No more silken scarlet hair. No more fingers and toes. No more dancing.

Now I understand what Jessiva was trying to tell me. As a dragon, she would never again be able to dance the way she did last night. It’s a loss she couldn’t bear, and I’m beginning to think I could not bear it either.

Perhaps… perhaps I should take Jessiva and leave Ouroskelle. I could carry her to the coast, where she will be safe from Thelise’s spell.

It would be treachery, a betrayal of Kyreagan, a rejection of his plan. I would be undermining him before the other males. He would be deeply hurt.

Fuck... I don’t know what to do.

As I glide into the valley, toward the enclosure in front of the women’s cavern, I spot Kyreagan and the Princess on the ground near Jessiva. I’m not sure I like the way Kyreagan is staring at my woman. The Princess is pointedly not looking at my brother; she’s glaring in another direction.

My heart sinks. Of course my brother would notice Jessiva—she’s easily the most beautiful, intelligent, and interesting person on this island—perhaps in the whole world. And he is larger, stronger, and more assertive than I am. Given a choice between the two of us, any female would choose him.

I drop down and land near Jessiva. Still holding my brother’s gaze, she takes a deliberate step backward, bringing her closer to me.

So something was happening between them—an implicit offer on his part, if not an overt one. And Jessiva chose me.

Gratified and surprised, I look from my brother to my captive before I manage to remember the message I came to deliver. “Ashvelon and Fortunix have returned.”

Kyreagan’s yellow eyes brighten. “And were they successful in their mission?”

“Yes. They await us in Ashvelon’s cave.”

Kyreagan turns to the Princess, who’s frowning at us with her arms crossed. “This is my brother, Varex. He and I are leaving now. Eat, rest, and speak to your people. I will return later.”

“Don’t hurry back,” she snaps.

He looks as if he’s about to snarl at her, but instead he leaps aloft, his great wings pounding the air. I rise with him.

Whatever he said to Jessiva, I am determined not to hold it against him. But we need to talk, he and I, so I begin the conversation with a simple question. “What was that about?”

“The Princess hates me,” Kyreagan rumbles. “She would rather not be around me.”

“Jessiva hates me too… sometimes.”

“And sometimes not?”

I think of what she and I did in my cave last night… the sounds she made, the blissful expression on her face. “It’s difficult to say.”

Kyreagan glances my way. “You can tell me anything.”

His tone is gentle, reassuring, almost probing. As if he, too, wishes to discuss sensitive topics, and he isn’t sure how to begin.

I can’t confess everything to him. But perhaps I can gain some perspective on what I’ve been feeling and doing with my captive.

“Do you ever feel anything strange when you’re with your female?” I ask him.

“Explain.”

“I thought the mating heat did not begin until the Rib Moon,” I say cautiously. “But I have been experiencing symptoms like Father described when he told us what to expect. Pleasurable sensations in my body, and certain reactions that are difficult to conceal. Is there something wrong with me? Is this because I was hatched late?”

Kyreagan beats his wings a little faster and tosses his head restlessly. “If there is something wrong with you, there is something wrong with me as well.”

“Then you’ve felt it too? With the Princess?”

“I wish I did not. Those are sensations I was only supposed to feel for Mordessa during our coupling.”

I growl softly, sympathetically. “I had no Promised, so I cannot imagine the grief you are enduring—not only the loss of Grimmaw and Vylar, but Mordessa as well. She was a magnificent creature. I would have been proud to call her my second sister.”

Kyreagan doesn’t answer, but his eyes glimmer with grief. It eases my heart a little, sharing this moment with him. Sharing our pain.

“Mordessa was kind and generous,” I say. “She would have wanted you to feel pleasure and find love with someone else.”

What I witnessed between my brother and the Princess was anything but love, so perhaps I should not be encouraging a love match—but I do not want his attention turning to Jessiva again.

“On the other hand, plenty of successful matches are formed without love,” I continue. “It is not essential. I have always hoped to feel it, but many of our kind never experience that sort of romantic passion with their life-mate.”

“I am aware.”

We have no chance to speak further on the matter, as we’re entering Ashvelon’s cave. It’s cluttered with bundles and bags. Both Ashvelon and Fortunix are present, crowding the space with their large bodies. I pin my wings against my back, glad for once that my form is slender.

“The supplies you ordered, my Prince.” Fortunix indicates the bags and bundles. “I may not be much good for battle any longer, but I can still carry a heavy load.”

“And the enchantress?” Kyreagan asks.

Ashvelon moves to the side, revealing the woman I saw riding on his back. Somehow, in the time that it took me to fetch Kyreagan, he altered part of his nest into a sort of throne for her. She’s lounging on it, sipping from a cup, smirking as though her capture is an amusing joke at everyone else’s expense.

Kyreagan wastes no time in telling her exactly what he requires—a spell that will transform all the human women we have kidnapped into female dragons. In return, he promises to set the sorceress free. He’s a dragon of honor. I have no doubt he will keep his word, provided she does as she’s told.

To me, she doesn’t seem like the type of woman who complies, but rather one who likes to be obeyed. And judging by the way she and Ashvelon look at each other, he has already found pleasure in submitting to her. Now that I’ve been sexual with my captive, I can spot the signs in others. I’m not sure how far Kyreagan went with the Princess, but I’m convinced the sorceress has made Ashvelon come for her at least once. He’s staring at her with wretched devotion and abject hunger.

“I think I can provide the magic you need,” Thelise says, and Kyreagan growls, “You think you can? That’s not good enough.”

“Fine. I swear it,” she says. “On my father’s bones .”

A bone oath is sacred, not to be sworn lightly. But Thelise is not a dragon. The oath does not carry the same weight for her. She’s using the term because she knows our culture, which feels manipulative to me. But her promise apparently convinces Kyreagan, because he says, “Very well.”

“I’ll just need a little time, and a lot more wine,” Thelise declares. “And my bag—you remember which bag it is, pet?”

“Pet” is apparently her name for Ashvelon. He shuffles through the bags with his claws and locates the one she asked for, a leather one covered in symbols.

“Give me eight or nine hours, and it shall be done,” says Thelise. “There are precise calculations to be made, chants to be written, ingredients to be blended. Oh, and princelings—make sure all your people sleep on the ground tonight. Dragons and humans.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Don’t question the sorceress, darling,” she reproaches me. “And don’t worry your horrible spiked heads about anything. It’s in my best interest to do what you want, isn’t it, since I obviously crave my freedom and want to return to my little shack in that salt-crusted town by the sea? So rest assured it will all be done exactly as you need it to be. By this time tomorrow, you and your human captives will have far more in common. Fly away, sweet monsters, but remember to keep your captives on the ground and be at their sides around sunset. The change may be disconcerting for those involved. Can’t be too careful.”

Kyreagan, Fortunix, and I leave the cave and head for the sunlit peak of the mountain. Kyreagan has an affinity for sunshine, and Fortunix likes it as well. Since he’s an Elder dragon, the heat feels good to his bones.

I prefer lightning storms and moonless nights. They feed the darkness inside me like nothing else. But I can appreciate a good sun bath occasionally, so I don’t protest their choice of landing spot.

“Do you trust her?” I ask Kyreagan.

“She swore on her father’s bones.”

Fortunix seems inclined to distrust her. Apparently the sorceress held him and Ashvelon captive in her stable for a short time. But he admits that she accompanied them willingly to Ouroskelle after learning more about their mission.

I don’t feel right about any of it. I don’t like the fact that she was able to confine two full-grown dragons, or her sudden change of heart, or her decision to come here. Nor do I fully believe her “bone oath.” But I keep my misgivings to myself.

If Thelise cannot transform the women into dragons, our species will perish. Our extinction will be a tragedy, but at least Jessiva will remain human. I may as well let Kyreagan hold onto the hope that his plan will succeed. In the meantime, we’ve been tasked with a duty of greater importance—flying to the mainland to secure our bargain with Rahzien, King of Vohrain.

I’ve never liked or trusted the King. During our flight to the meeting place at Ehren’s Point, I fret constantly about whether or not he will keep his word to our clan and give us the Middenwold Isles. But when we reach the Point and converse with him, he seems enthusiastic about fulfilling the bargain. He even offers us another prized region, the fishing grounds of the Parrock Banks… on the condition that Kyreagan gives him Princess Serylla of Elekstan.

Kyreagan does not take kindly to the idea. In fact, the longer Rahzien talks about the Princess, the angrier my brother becomes, until smoke unfurls from his nostrils and his breath grows heavy and heated. At last he snarls, “No,” at the King, declares the bargain concluded, and flies away in a storm of angry wings.

Fortunix sighs and nudges me with one scarred gray wing. “Go after him,” he mutters. “I’ll stay here and finish the conversation with our allies.”

“ Former allies,” I say in an undertone. On Kyreagan’s behalf, I give Rahzien my most vicious glare before I take to the sky.

Moments later, I catch up with Kyreagan and glide alongside him. “That was rather abrupt, even for you,” I comment.

“He was planning to harm her,” Kyreagan growls. “But she is mine.”

“Nevertheless, you could have ended the meeting more gracefully. Fortunix stayed behind to smooth things over.”

“Good for him. You’ll come with me. We’re going down the coast to fetch a few things before we return to Ouroskelle.”

“Things?”

“Blankets,” he says. “And some fucking tea.”

“Tea?”

“The Princess likes tea, and I have decided that I should try to please her. What of it?”

“So you do want her.”

“Did I not tell Rahzien that she is mine?”

“You did. And I must confess, it is a relief to hear you state it so openly. Earlier I wondered if you might be considering Jessiva as a potential mate.”

“Perhaps, but only for a moment, because I was angry with the Princess.” Kyreagan eyes me sidelong as we angle toward the coastline. “If I had truly wished to invite Jessiva to my cave, I would have asked your permission first.”

“And I would have let you take her.” My wings and tail stiffen as I glide. “You know I cannot deny you anything.”

“You should deny me,” says Kyreagan quietly, “if I ever ask for something that is too precious.”

My throat tightens, and I don’t reply.

“If you had told me of your feelings for the woman, I would never have looked at her,” Kyreagan says. “You are my brother, my blood, the one whom I value above every other dragon in the clan. You are wiser than many of the Elders, and far better with words than I am. I have been lost in darkness since the Bone-King’s death, and that darkness has deepened since the females perished. My way is often unclear to me. Yet even so, I would never knowingly hurt you. If I have, I beg your forgiveness.”

“You have it,” I reply. “Always.”

We fly faster, he and I, as if the wind of our speed can purge away the heaviness of our spirits. And perhaps it does, because as I soar with Kyreagan, my heart is lighter than it has been for many days.