Page 3 of The Dragon Warlord

Father nods to Rayne, one of his husbands and their eyes have a wordless conversation. “You may come with us if you like, Ikara.”

I have to close my eyes to prevent myself from puking, but I wish I could see her face. I’ll bet she’s thrilled. She didn’t want to be the Warlord’s omega—only you and Keldrid are foolish enough to want that, she’d said—but she’s fascinated with him.

I can sense the Warlord’s agitation as our bond takes the first steps in sewing us together. None of that’s helping anything. “Can we get on with it? I think he’s dying,” the Warlord says.

I’m not dying, and I won’t, but I’m sure it appears that way to someone who’s never seen this before. I force my eyes open for long enough to catch Father’s scowl. Outwardly, he seems angry, but what he’s trying to do is beg me to allow myself to pass out. He can’t command me freely anymore. There are rules—by his very decree—that are specific to the Warlord and his omega. It’s going to take some getting used to.

I belong to my alpha now. He’s the only thing that matters.

* * *

My alpha carries me on the long trek to the Warlord’s suite led by Rayne and Ikara. I’m doing my best not to puke so I’ve got my head burrowed into his neck, praying he doesn’t mind. Being buried deep in his scent is what’s saving me from hurling the last thing I ate all over the place.

After laying me on soft silk sheets in a surprisingly gentle fashion, my body tenses when it’s not in contact with his anymore. I cling to the sheets instead, tamping down on my screams to suffer in silence so that I don’t rile him more than he already is.

“Are these my chambers?” he says.

We’re in the Warlord’s chambers? That means I’m on the Warlord’s bed.

I lose my battle with the pain and cry out in a way that shatters any amount of calm that the Warlord had managed.

He growls. “Everyone out. Get out.”

“Warlord. I know it looks bad, but he’ll be fine,” Rayne says.

“Out!”

Fuck. Maybe I should let the pain take me. I try, but I can’t. I want to look at him. Touch him. I want to inhale more of his scent. “Mmmm…” I reach an arm toward him.

“Will touching him help?” the Warlord asks those who have clearly not left the room despite his shouting.

“Skin to skin is best,” Rayne says.

The Warlord grips my hand, and it calms the nausea, but the pain is still prevalent. I need more.

“Why isn’t it working?” he demands.

“He needs a lot more than that. I could help you undress him,” Rayne says.

The Warlord growls. “I’ll do it and you’ll all leave, now.”

I don’t know if they leave. I toss and turn, delirious with pain as the Warlord undresses my body that’s burning up and slick with sweat.

He curls his large and naked body around me and once we’re touching things calm down inside me enough to take the edge off. Pushing back, I realize I’m seeking the hard member sitting against one of my arse cheeks.

“No,” he says. “We’re not doing that.”

“Y-You don’t want m-me?” I pant, my heart cracking into several pieces.

“Shhh. Of course, I do. It’s taking all my will not to. I considered leaving our underthings on to avoid temptation, but I won’t deprive you of comfort for my sake. I shall simply have to exercise self-control.”

I whine. Isn’t he supposed to be out of his mind? I wish he’d just take me.

“You’re too important to me,” he says but doesn’t expand on his reasoning and remains firm on his decision. This won’t turn into the sex I wish it would—for the first time in my life—it’s just him helping me with the pain. He rubs my arm and squeezes me tightly.

Eventually, I breathe easier, and he calms down too. Gripping his hand, I show him where he can touch me to help, guiding it over where he tore into my throat. It’s still slick with blood.

“I hurt you,” he says.