Page 66 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Forty-Seven

Rosomon

I draw long hard breaths. I won’t give up. I can’t.

Given the precarious angle of the cage, I don’t dare adjust my tenuous grip on the bar at its back. I’ll hold on as long as I can.

I eye the lift’s ropes. Could I climb up? They’re quite thin and would be difficult to grip. Plus, they’re out of reach and too far to grasp without the full intervention of Othrix.

Egon said he’d get help. The least trustworthy person I know, stands between my life and my death.

But I must put my trust and hope in the bully.

If Egon finds help, someone will fix the lift or drop down a climbing rope.

But by the time someone gets here, I’ll have no strength left in my hands or arms. I’ll find some.

The dragon turns his eye toward me again. This beast must be a male. Everything about him, from his size to his presence, reads masculine.

He snorts, and even more steam erupts, but this time it’s not directly aimed at me, thank Othrix. He roars, and fire streams down the canyon, scorching its wall for several furlongs ahead of me.

The behemoth shifts, moving alongside my cage.

He’s so close now his massive body and gleaming scales—gold tinged silver—brush against the part of the cage he ripped open.

Remembering the texture of Surath’s scales, not to mention the surge of power and happiness I felt when I touched her, my aching fingers long to reach out.

If I let go with one hand and stretch across the cage, I might be able to touch him, but if the beast chooses that moment to move, I’ll only have the fingers of one hand separating my life from my death.

But the longer he stays still, the more my temptation to touch him grows. If this is my end, I’ll have few regrets, and at least I’ll have died, trying to achieve something I truly want.

Craving my father’s attention and love, and my brothers’ privileges, I often wished I’d been born a male, but now that I’ve found the pleasures in being a woman, that no longer holds true.

And upon reflection, instead of ever truly wanting to be a man, what I’ve always wished was that the world would place a higher value on a woman’s place in it.

All in all, my life has been grand. I’ve never gone without food or toiled long hours for coin.

And even if my father largely ignored me, I love him.

He was inattentive but not cruel like Tynan’s father.

And I love my brothers. I even love Nurse.

And Saxon and Tynan have introduced me to the great pleasures of being a woman.

If these are my last moments in life, if I’m taking my very last breaths, I want to die full of joy and not terror.

Wanting to relive my happiest moments, I imagine I’m on the back of Sky Stallion, galloping across open fields, my hair flowing behind me with the warm pink sun on my face.

I imagine the hot pressure of the steed’s body moving strong and sure beneath mine.

And then I imagine my good times with Saxon and Tynan.

How connected I felt to them when they were moving inside me.

And how much pleasure each of them gave me.

Flooded with happiness, I release one of my hands and stretch sideways, reaching toward the dragon’s scales.

My fingertips brush one, and I’m overwhelmed with wonderment. I’m only touching a single scale, and barely, but my fingers tingle and goosebumps travel up my arm. The dragon shifts even closer, as if trying to squeeze more of his huge body into the cage, making it easier for me to touch him.

Stretching out so only my fingertips are holding the bar, I flatten my palm against his scale, and the warm tingling intensifies. It’s fanciful thinking on my part, but I feel as if the dragon knows that I’m touching him. That he wants me to touch him. And perhaps he’s enjoying it too.

He shifts. I gasp. I’m going to fall.

But his movement is slow, and his scales seem to come alive as my hand slides over them. My terror is overridden by awe and curiosity. I’m filled with utter appreciation that Othrix created such beasts, and that he put this particular one in front of me now.

My eyes flutter shut, as if my mind and body want me to concentrate only on my sense of touch as his scales continue to slide under my hand.

When I reopen my eyes, the dragon’s body is no longer covering the front of the cage.

A gap at the top has appeared, revealing a slice of the other side of the canyon and a hint of the sky.

I maintain contact with his golden scales as he slowly lowers.

The base of some spikes appear in my line of vision.

I’m looking at the back of his neck. He continues to shift, exposing the place where his neck joins the smoother top of his back.

Excitement courses through me, alongside my awe. Is the behemoth inviting me to mount? That’s truly wishful thinking, but wishes are all that I have.

My eyes widen as I spot what I think is one of the beast’s saddle handles. Do I dare grab it?

There’s no way I can reach—not unless I let go of the cage’s bar. And even if I can grab it, will I be able to get a strong enough grip to climb atop this behemoth without a mounting rope?

It’s not like I’ve got a lot of options—not beyond waiting for an unlikely rescue.

My hand brushes his scales, and the dragon reacts, shifting again, tilting his neck and moving the handle even closer. I see the second one now.

Encouraged, I slide my fingers forward, but I can’t reach the handle.

I let go of the bar, and my boots slip across the cage floor, sliding me toward the dragon. I crash against his solid body, but rise onto my toes and manage to grab the handle.

Pulling myself up on a strong exhale, I reach for the second one. I got it.

I pause, gasping for breath and willing my heart rate to slow. But between fear and excitement, calming my heart seems unlikely. I’m hanging now, my body and face against the dragon’s scales as I hold onto his saddle handles. At least I’m holding what I hope are his handles.

The behemoth shifts away from the lift. If my fingers slip now, I’ll fall to my death. I only hope the fall kills me, so I won’t be aware when I’m incinerated, speared by his talons or crushed between his teeth.

The behemoth is breathing slowly, taking long, deep breaths that shift my body with each one. I sense his warmth but also his immense power. Do I dare climb atop him? Can I?

With one movement, this dragon could crush me against the canyon wall or swing me right off his body. But every instinct tells me that’s not his intent. If he wanted that, he’d already have done it.

Remembering how the dragon masters encouraged Tynan to use his feet, I pull myself up with aching arms, enough that I can bend one leg and brace my boot against the dragon’s scales. And then the other.

His body continues to expand and contract with long breaths, and now that some of my weight is on my legs, my tired arms find the strength to pull me higher.

Climbing up, I pull my body into a crouch and then spot the pommel. It’s not as large as I feared, given the size of the rest of him, and it’s glistening with what I hope is the lubricant Roule assured us would ease its entry.

The pommel’s tip isn’t as narrow as the trainer that I pushed into my bum hole, but it’s no bigger than the men’s rods I’ve taken inside my cunny. Too bad that’s not where it’s going. It’s difficult to believe that this pommel might secure me to this dragon when he flies.

But this is my moment. My moment to prove that a woman can do this. That I can do this. My moment to prove everyone wrong.

Pushing my left leg firmly against the dragon, I tug up with my arms and swing my right over the ridge of his spine.

I did it.

I pause, panting, feeling his hard back bone land solidly between my legs. During my encounter with Egon and Amis, my back flap was torn fully open. It’s split now between my widely spread legs, and his scales brush the skin at the center of my cleft.

Do I dare attempt a true mounting?

The fullness of that trainer was tolerable, even pleasurable, but its initial entrance was painful, even using the bear grease.

I back up slowly, until I feel the pommel bump up against me. The beast bucks, and my body lifts off his spine.

When I drop, his pommel lands inside me. But not in my bum hole where it belongs. It enters my cunny.

I gasp, even though I feel no real pain.

Emotions rush through me, and my eyes close as I’m flooded with gratitude, flooded with pleasure and utter contentment—more than I could ever imagine.

What I’m feeling isn’t the same as when a man’s rod is inside me.

Not exactly. It’s like I can feel more. Like I can hear more.

See more, even though my eyes are still closed.

The pommel expands, its length growing a few finger widths, and even more joy rushes through me.

I open my eyes to discover the behemoth has lifted his head. The spikes along the back of his neck shine in the morning sunlight, their tips sharp enough to pierce any armor. Some of his scales glow as if gilded, and high above me, shorter spikes encircle the top of his head like a crown.

I am Zogar. A booming voice fills my mind. You are Rosomon.

How does he know my name?

You told me , he answers through the undeniable bond between us.

This connection is already far stronger than the dragon masters or Tynan described. It’s like we’re inside each other’s minds. Why would the masters understate this bond in their descriptions?

Male riders are inferior, Zogar answers my unspoken question. Dragons are reluctant to communicate through the opening men present to them. Your body was designed to ride dragons.

Elated can’t begin to describe how I feel. Vindicated also fails to cover the depths of my joy. Or my surging sense of power. I’ve never felt more exuberant, nor so overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by every possible emotion at once.

My body was made for this. I’m on a dragon. And not just any dragon. I’m on the behemoth.

I am not a behemoth! Zogar’s deep booming voice vibrates through me, even though it’s only in my mind.

Fear tempers my elation. He’s so angry. “I apologize.”

You are forgiven, little one.

The communication between us is very strong.

He can most certainly hear and understand me when I speak aloud, but he also knows at least some of what I’m thinking.

While that makes me feel even more bonded to my dragon, I won’t have any privacy while atop him.

But given that a portion of his body is inside a very intimate part of me, I suppose we’re far past any true sense of privacy.

He chuckles, and it comforts me, as if he truly understands me. This feels so right. Being atop this dragon, having his pommel inside me feels like destiny. Finally, I can do my part to protect the Seven Kingdoms.

I’m glad, little one, Zogar says. And I am grateful you have freed me from captivity.

“You were held captive?”

Yes. I was tricked and imprisoned.

Anger builds inside him so fiercely it scares me.

My anger should scare you, little one. But don’t fear for yourself. I do seek revenge, but you have freed me, and for that you shall be rewarded.

He moves, shifting further away from the canyon wall, and it’s like we’re moving as one. When we’re a good distance from the rock face, his wings rise and flap, almost as if he’s stretching them, testing them.

We soon will be one, my queen. And to answer your question, my wings are stiff. I have not taken flight for four hundred years.

Four hundred years! He can’t be right about that, but I don’t want to question him. “It must have been difficult to be housed all alone.” My heart goes out to him. “I know how solitude feels, and how it feels to be trapped.”

Your compassion proves you were destined to become my queen, little one. And now that I’m free, it is my duty to find and free the rest of my people.

“Dragons refer to themselves as people?”

He laughs, and it vibrates inside me. Oh, you have so much to learn, little one.

He flaps his wings, and I feel him expanding inside me again. This time in width. The knotting.

That is correct, little one. But fear not. Your body, with assistance from my salve, will easily accommodate my knot. And I would never allow my queen to fall.

That’s the second time he’s called me his queen, and given how passed over I’ve been, I must admit that I like it.

His knot expands until I’m incredibly full, incredibly stretched, and I pant as I adjust to the intense pressure.

I feel no pain. I only feel secure, connected, and utterly joyful.

His bulge starts about three finger widths inside me, and brings forth feelings of security and connectedness, rather than the rising need for release I feel when a man’s rod is thrusting inside me.

And while it’s not like having sex, his knot brings me pleasure.

I’m glad you are comfortable, my queen. Now you are well seated, I will fly beyond this wretched prison.

I draw in a breath.

Do not be afraid.

“I’m not afraid.”

Yes, you are. He laughs. But I admire your bravery. An important trait for a queen. But have no fear, the knotting binds us together. As long as we remain connected, you will never fall from my spine.

Using his powerful legs, he strides, advancing us a dozen spans with each long step. Scraping sounds echo in the canyon as his talons etch its floor. The space Zogar’s housed in is far bigger than the pens in the labyrinth.

Again, I sense anger inside him.

I require more information about my people’s imprisonment, he says. But that must wait. I have more urgent needs at this moment.