Page 8 of The Dragon Warlord

Even after I shifted to my Elven form, the beast was still at the helm. Not knowing what I did during that time terrifies me. It was worse than waking up from a bad hangover after a night of too much Markaytian fire mead and discovering you’d passed out in the palace pigsty.

Part of me doesn’t want to know since what I do know is bad enough. Fuck. I was a monster. I chained River to me for life. Gods. I could kill the dragon lord for that alone. I hold him at least partially responsible.

Now, if I ever want to go home again, I’m supposed to learn a bunch of shite about dragon culture or something.

My heart pangs, thinking about home. I was such an immature arse. I stand by being fed up with my three men, but I shouldn’t have run away like a child.

I need a little relief. Just a little. I allow my knee to touch River’s under the table. Thank fuck the solace is mutual. I don’t know what I’d do if he hated my touch. The awful part is, I don’t think I could touch him any less even if that were the case. As strong as I am, the pull to him is stronger.

We scour books. I ask River questions. I don’t learn a single thing about what I need to know. Surprise, surprise. It would be just like the dragon lord to concoct a scheme so elaborate that I’m on a wild goose chase for endless centuries, which according to River is exactly how long the dragon lord has.

“What are we looking for, Warlord?” he asks. They speak Markaytian here. River seems to understand any Elvish that slips out, but he says that he can’t speak it in return, so I’ve switched to Markaytian. Unless I’m pissed off. Elvish curse words are way more flavorful on the tongue.

“I don’t know.” I don’t. Not a clue. I just know I’m supposed to be learning about “Dragon Land”—or whatever this is—as fast as I possibly can so that I can return to my family. Maybe if I were at least looking for a needle in a haystack, we might get somewhere. Instead, we’re just digging through a haystack and hoping one of the pieces of straw stands out against the other pieces of straw.

But will the dragon lord tell me precisely what he wants me to know? No. Of course not. That would be too easy. He wants me to explore. Acclimate among “my people”. Get to know my dragonkin. Fuck that. I’d appreciate a syllabus, thank you very much. Instead, the dragon lord nattered on and on about it again—when he’d discovered I’d taken no interest in doing so after the first demand he made about it—in a lengthy lecture that I mostly tuned out. In my defense, he was a repetitive arsehole undeserving of my undivided attention. When I got the gist, I nodded along, only listening enough to add a “yes, my lord” in the right places.

In between reading dragon lore and asking River every question that springs to mind, I catch myself watching the blond-haired dragon. It’s the bond. It’s got to be the bond. Gods, it has to be the bond, or I’ve officially lost it. I’m captivated by him and when I’m not captivated, I’m worried about him. I don’t like anything or anyone to get near him.

I growled at the librarian yesterday when he walked past as if I were an animal. I didn’t even apologize until much later than I should have. It didn’t feel wrong until I cooled off and even then, I was only apologizing because I knew it was the right thing to do, not because I had any intention of ceasing my barbaric behavior. All he did was stroll by.

Too close. Almost brushed his shoulder.

What if he had touched him?

Oh, Gods.Gods. Now I’m thinking about that. Him being touched. What would I do to a person who touched him? I’d rip a chunk out of their neck with my teeth is what I’d do.

“Are you thinking about the librarian again, Warlord?” River smiles, showing his pearl-like dragon teeth. He’s got the physique of someone used to long days of battle and a solid jaw to match. Ugh. I spend too long staring at those pouty lips. His exotic dragon eyes angle toward his temples, lending such beauty to his face that he’s going to be the death of me.

“How did you know?”

“Because you look the same way you did when you growled at him. Also, you’re growling under your breath,” he whispers.

Am I? Yeah, I am. “I apologized to you and to him.”

“And I told you that was unnecessary. What you’re feeling is normal. Everyone understands.”

All of that’s nice to hear, but it’s not what I want to hear. “And?”

“And no one is going to touch the Warlord’s omega. I promise. They like their head where it sits.”

I glance at my gleaming new sword where it’s resting against the table. Do I need my sword in a library? No. Yet, I need my sword. Maybe someone should take it from me so that I don’t separate anyone’s head from their body without true cause.

The tension in my limbs releases. I need to hear that kind of thing too often. “This will fade over time, yes?” He’s already assured me it would. I need to hear him say it again.

This time he bites his bottom lip.

Death. Slow death. I’ll die slowly because of that lip.

“It will, but—”

“But? There was no but when I asked you yesterday. Why is there suddenly a but?”

“I don’t want to upset you, Warlord—”

“River, so help me, if you don’t tell me this instant—”

“Things have changed since yesterday. Like … like a deepening. I don’t know how else to explain it. The feelings are new to me too. I-I’ve never bonded with anyone else before.” River shifts his solid body in his chair and I’m staring without remorse at the soft way his wild hair falls over his eyes.