Page 12 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

“Where is the woman?” Fortunix moves farther inside .

At the same moment, an apprehensive shudder wrinkles the skin beneath my scales. Something sizzles faintly in the air, a power that makes my tongue tingle.

Fuck. We underestimated her.

“Get out,” I rasp. “Get out now.”

Fortunix tries to turn his great body, but he’s huge and slow. The doors are already closing, pulled together by some invisible force. They slam shut, and a soft, mocking laugh echoes through the shadows.

“Too easy,” says a feminine voice. “I expected more of a challenge, really.”

Fortunix bellows and flings his body against the side of the stable.

He should be able to smash through the ancient wood easily, but the instant his shoulder strikes it, there’s a flash of purple light and he rebounds off the wall.

Lightning sizzles across his scales briefly before dying out. He looks shaken.

He tries his fire next, but the same thing occurs. The stream of flame doubles back at him, and while he can’t be damaged by his own magic, the sight seems to unnerve him even more.

“Filth,” he snarls. “You’re a treacherous whore and a piece of shit just like your fucking father.”

“You’re not very nice,” says the enchantress. “I don’t like you at all. Now the other one, he’s quiet. He isn’t trying to break free.” Her voice drops low, a velvety threat in her tone. “And he didn’t kill my horse.”

I’ve located the source of her voice—a dark corner of the barn, up among the rafters. She’s standing on a beam, looking down at us. Fortunix spots her at the same moment, and before I can stop him, he vomits fire at her.

The enchantress whisks out of the path of the flames, but she isn’t fast enough, and the blast strikes her right foot and ankle. A glow of purple energy shimmers over her skin, shielding her against the sustained stream of his magic .

Most humans tend to scream and weep when confronted with dragon fire, but the enchantress only laughs, a little breathless. “You nearly got me. Let’s not do that again.” Reaching into her pocket, she flings something at Fortunix—it looks like a handful of dust.

Fortunix tries to speak, but his voice is gone. He barrels out his chest and attempts to spray more fire, but the light of the flames dies in his throat.

“Think about what you’ve done, you big brute,” says the enchantress. “Meanwhile, your friend and I will have a chat.” She turns her gaze on me and waves her hand. “Move a little farther that way.”

Instinctively I obey her, to my own surprise. I shift my body in the direction she indicates, without questioning her command.

The enchantress gives me a delighted smile. “So it can do what it’s told. What a congenial dragon. Give me just a moment, there’s a good pet.”

Perhaps I should speak up, defend Fortunix, and demand that she release him.

But she seems willing to converse with me as long as I follow her rules, and I won’t jeopardize the chance to convince her to come with us of her own free will.

So I wait while she prances above me on the rafters, casting a line of crystals between me and Fortunix, scribbling words on a parchment, and then dribbling some more herbs and dust on the ground.

Light slants from a small clouded window, a circle of dirty glass near the roof of the stable. The glow reveals golden strands in her dark brown hair. It’s a waterfall of silken beauty that sways and swings as she works her spell.

The way she moves entrances me. I’ve never watched a human woman for more than a few minutes, and most of those women wore the armor of Vohrain.

The day is hot, which is probably why this female’s clothing leaves most of her body bare.

She has long legs for her kind, curved in places that seem beautiful to me.

I find her exposed belly intriguing, too. It’s smooth and slightly rounded, with a small divot in the center whose edge is pierced by a jewel. I like the way the gem twinkles when she moves. I like the shape of her arms, the strength and grace in their movements.

I can feel Fortunix’s glare on me. When I don’t look his way, he lunges, as if he plans to catch the sorceress in his jaws. She wards him off with a blast of power from both hands.

Her swift motion sent locks of her hair tumbling over her shoulders. When she brushes it back, I admire the play of the light on its waves.

“I like your hair,” I say. And then I curse myself inwardly for speaking that thought aloud.

“Do you?” She smirks down at me. “I use magic on it. Sometimes I change the color, other times I alter the texture. This is my natural shade, enchanted for smoothness and glossiness, so I don’t have to spend any time caring for it.

The spell even keeps it clean, as long as I renew it every so often. ”

“The effect is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

She missteps and wavers on the rafter for a second. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“No.”

She mutters something, then flexes her fingers and twists her wrists upward.

A wall of impenetrable blackness shoots up from the floor of the stable all the way to the ceiling, separating me from Fortunix. The enchantress is in my half of the building, perched on the beam, looking pleased with herself.

“There, that’s better. Now the nasty one can’t see or hear us.” She swings down from the beam to a jutting piece of wood, and from there to the top of a barrel. She hops off and stands in front of me, barefoot and entirely unafraid, despite the fact that I am many times her size.

“You are interesting,” she says. “So calm, even though you must know that I could kill you as easily as you could kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” I reply. “I need you.”

“Gracious.” She laughs, fingertips fluttering along her collarbone. “Say that again, in a deeper tone.”

I lower my voice to a rough growl. “I need you.”

She sucks in a sharp little breath. “God, you’re obedient. Have you been anyone’s pet before, darling?”

“I am not your pet.”

“I think you might be.” She tilts her head, and her golden earrings flash in the slanted rays of light. “Tell me, dragon, why are you here? What do you want? Am I to assume that my accursed father went through with his terrible plan and killed many of your kind?”

So she knew of his plan. I am momentarily angered that anyone could have known about the spell and not warned its potential victims. But then, why should she warn us, allied as we were with the invaders of her country?

“The Supreme Sorcerer slaughtered all our females, and ended his own life in the process,” I reply.

Her face falls, the humor and confidence gone. Her devastated expression lasts only a moment before she says carelessly, “The world is lucky to be rid of him.”

“A cruel way to speak of your progenitor.”

“He was cruel to me . He tried not to be, but he was. He didn’t ascribe much value to anyone—even people I loved.

” Her mouth tenses, but a second later she shakes her head and produces a bright smile.

“In light of his malevolence toward your species, I assumed that you came here for revenge. But you say you don’t wish to kill me, so we return to the question—why are you here? ”

“We have taken our revenge already,” I say. “We’ve brought human captives to our island. And now my prince, Kyreagan, requires your assistance with a spell.”

Her eyes narrow. “What kind of spell?”

“A spell of transformation. I am to bring you to Ouroskelle, where the prince will explain the details.”

Kyreagan did not expressly forbid me from telling her everything, but I suspect withholding some information will pique her interest. She seems both clever and inquisitive.

“You will be compensated,” I add.

“With what?” She chuckles. “I can’t imagine you and I value the same things.”

“Humans enjoy treasure, just as dragons do.”

“You’ve got me there. I do like sparkly things. And wine. I love wine. I don’t suppose you have a lifetime supply of wine stashed away in your caves?”

“We do not. But if you wish it, I could procure some. I will personally ensure that you get everything you desire.”

“Everything I desire,” she muses. “And how will you, a dragon, know what I want?”

“You will tell me, and I will fetch it.”

“Sweetheart, you would end up smashing or crushing the items I might request. But I like your spirit. You seem very willing to serve.” She walks around me, looking me up and down, from horns to claws, from snout to wings to tail.

“Did you ever serve someone else, besides your princes? A mate, perhaps? Someone you lost to my father’s magic? ”

“I had mating partners during the last heat, twenty-five years ago,” I reply. “But since then, no one. Though I did lose my dearest friend to your father’s spell.”

“My sympathies,” murmurs the enchantress, returning from her inspection of my body and facing me again. “You’ve had no sexual pleasure in twenty-five years? ”

I arch my neck uncomfortably and my spikes rise in spite of myself.

“Oh, but you have ,” she says eagerly. “Do tell.”

A cautious rumble rolls through my chest. I’m not sure why I yearn to confess to her, but I do. She gives me the same feeling as the words Devil’s Kiss . Ruinous and lovely at the same time.

“You’re sure that he cannot hear us?” I jerk my head toward the magical wall that conceals Fortunix.

“Are you about to tell me a secret, dragon? I love secrets. No, your friend can’t hear us through the barrier. He’s being punished with silence and impotence.”

Something about the dark way the enchantress says “punished” makes me shiver, and she doesn’t miss the movement.

She comes a little nearer, and my nostrils fill with the glorious scent of her. “Do you need to be punished, sweetheart? Have you done something wrong?”

I shudder again, a reaction I can’t control. “I have done many wrong things.”

The enchantress extends her hand, long slim fingers and tapered nails. She isn’t smiling.

Impulsively I bend my neck and lower my head, bringing my muzzle to her level. Her eyes are wide and dark as the tips of her fingers approach my nose.

“Tell me your sins, pet,” she whispers.

I could bite her hand off. I suspect the spell that protected her from Fortunix’s fire only defends her from magic, not from teeth and claws.

And yet I don’t try to harm her. I stand utterly still while my heart pounds inside my chest and the enchantress reaches slowly forward to touch me. I have never felt so huge and clumsy, nor have I ever experienced such a helpless, all-consuming need.

This woman makes me feel like I have alethia within my reach, at the tip of my tongue.

There is security in her presence, like the comfortable familiarity I had with Mordessa, as if I’ve known her for longer than I’ve known myself.

And yet I know I’m not safe. I can practically taste the danger of her magic.

I feel the rush of her power in the very air I breathe.

She could kill me. But when her fingertips press lightly to the scales of my nose, there is no cruel blast of power, no violent spell, no choking darkness. The touch is gentle at first, then commanding as she gains confidence and presses her whole palm over the space between my nostrils.

“Good boy,” she murmurs. “What is your name?”

“Ashvelon.”

“I am Thelise. Tell me what you’ve done that makes you ache inside.”

“An herb on our island provides beautiful visions and sensations of pleasure,” I confess. “It is called alethia, and it is outlawed among dragons because of its addictive qualities. For a long time I was obsessed with it, and I put myself in danger to obtain it.”

“Did you endanger others?”

“Not exactly. But I avoided my responsibilities to the clan. I hid myself away so I could enjoy the forbidden effects.”

“The visions and the pleasure?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers trail across my scales, then circle the sensitive skin of my nostril. “What sort of pleasure?”

“The kind we are not supposed to feel outside of mating season.”

“You like sex,” she says, with a shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“In my culture, there is.”

“Sometimes a culture needs to change. That’s especially true when it puts us at painful odds with our true selves.”

“Painful odds,” I murmur. “Yes.”

“You feel guilty for using this herb. Is there anything else? ”

I swallow and shift my wings. “I was supposed to bring a captive to Ouroskelle. And I dropped her in the ocean last night.”

Her hand stops moving. “You dropped her?”

My neck arches, withdrawing my muzzle from her reach. “She struggled and slipped out of my claws. I searched for hours, but she had vanished into the sea. Her death is my fault, and I should be punished.”

“I see.” She hesitates, and in the space of that moment I manage to remember my purpose here. I had all but forgotten it. Her presence fills my mind so completely, there’s scarcely room for anything else.

“Will you come with me?” I ask. “We need your magic, and we need supplies for the captives. We don’t have the things humans require. I was hoping you would help me gather some of those items.”

“You want me to go shopping for your prisoners, then fly over the ocean with you after you dropped your last captive? And you want me to perform a spell for your prince, after which I will receive treasure?”

“And your freedom.”

“Oh, my freedom is always mine, pet. As for your proposal, I’m sure you can see how I might have trouble trusting you.

Perhaps we should try to build a little faith between us.

You mentioned transformation… I’m rather an expert in that sort of thing.

I wonder if, as your punishment, you would submit to an experiment.

It will last several hours, and at its conclusion, if I’m pleased with you, I’ll go to Ouroskelle. ”

“Would the experiment involve Fortunix?”

“The big brute with the scarred wings? No. This would be just between us. Our little secret.”

I consider her offer carefully. Punishment, submission, secret. If I’m pleased with you. I’m not sure why my whole body reacts to the combination of those words, but I’m stricken with a tremulous excitement that I haven’t felt before .

“You’re going to do magic on me?” I ask.

“I’ll perform one temporary spell on you, so you can understand my point of view in a new way. Beyond that, any magic that occurs between us will be your choice.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’ll see what I mean soon enough. Do you agree to the spell?”

“I do.”

“Wonderful.” She hurries over to a bag in the corner, a travel satchel similar to the ones that some of Vohrain’s officers used, except this one is marked with strange symbols. “Make yourself comfortable, Ashvelon, while I prepare.”