Red Hot Dragons Steamy 10 Book Collection

by Lisa Daniels

  Helga's blood ran cold. If I hadn't... if I hadn't gone to get Yarrow... if Servalan came to the hospital... What a crazy, stupid evening. All of it orchestrated by this Gorchev? Attacking her when she was supposed to be alone? Attacking those at the meeting?

  It's too accurate, the information. Someone's telling him exactly where we are and who we're with.

  “Were you outnumbered?”

  “Yes... and they had an iceblood with the Star Rose. Ridiculous thing. No one could stand out to it.”

  “Not even...?” Helga's voice trailed away, and she caressed her friend's hair.

  “She put up a good fight. But no, even with that staff, it was nothing. They had the gem attached to these wooden wings. Like an eagle's.”

  She saw it in her mind's eye—multiple staffs spanning from an unknown assailant's back like feathers, and a glowing hunk of diamond. A gem that was cut centuries ago, using some kind of method and faceting no human could ever hope to imitate. Making Helga's work seem like a child's toy.

  Dully informing Mauro of the attack that took place at the mansion, she watched as the hybrid's face scrunched into anger. “We've got a traitor.” He examined Quentin. “But it's not him. I can see that now.”

  Yarrow finished her healing of Quentin and moved to Mauro. “Let me look at that arm.” They locked gazes for a moment, longer than Helga thought appropriate, before Yarrow touched Mauro's arm and found the break.

  “You're a pretty one,” he said, voice low. “And a long way from home.” Yarrow scowled, not answering. Her face dipped in the direction of the ground, and she avoided his eyes.

  He sighed when able to flex his fingers again, and hastily explained to them both what happened from his perspective. Helga explained from her end as well, and they were soon joined by Quentin and Mia, stirring from the depths of their formerly wounded sleep.

  “I can't wait. I need to go find my brother and explain. He was taking the humans to the fortress.” The prince gave a bow. “Thank you, greenblood. My brother is fortunate to have such a talented hire as you. I am honored to be in your presence.”

  “I'm not...” Yarrow said weakly, then gaped as Mauro morphed into a red dragon and flapped off into the night. The gust of wind rustled their hair from the wing beats, and they opted to go inside. If anyone in the streets planned to scream about dragons, so be it. Apparently, none of the hybrids seemed to particularly care anymore.

  Servalan sat upright on the sofa when they came in, appearing bored, rather than someone who might have been close to death. The only evidence of it still remained on the other piece of furniture, and over the walls and ransacked sections of the house.

  “I can't believe you were attacked,” Quentin said in his soft, melodious voice. “I know, I knew it was potentially unsafe... oh, Helga. I'm sorry.”

  Didn't matter how sorry he was. Couldn't have prevented this anyway. Not with someone spying on them, announcing their every movement. Helga wanted to just move out of the city, find somewhere nice and quiet. Helga took the baby dragon out of her bodice to let it nestle in her arms, since it kept wanting to look at everyone.

  Mia, however, despite her return to health, gave everyone a dead-eyed glance.

  “'Sup with you, Mia?” Servalan prodded the iceblood, who simply shook her head, unwilling to talk. It took her ten minutes, after drinks and blankets were dragged over to the sofa, for Mia to open her mouth.

  “I found out what happened to my mother.”

  Oh no. With the quiet encouragement of the others, Mia continued, her hazel eyes red-rimmed from the effort of suppressing tears, “She's the enemy. She—she left me, I thought to return to the country. But... I never knew... if Gorchev had hired her, surely I would have known...?”

  “Unless Gorchev didn't hire her,” Quentin said, one hand resting on Helga's shoulder. “Don't forget the hybrids were there. My... my siblings. If Zaine can hire you, then what's to stop them hiring her?”

  “She abandoned me,” Mia whispered. “Fucked around with half the city, then just vanished. Never came back. Never looked. Never cared.”

  She shut up, refusing to talk further. Lost in the ghosts of her past. Helga hadn't the faintest clue how to comfort someone with that kind of revelation. All she saw now was a sad, battered and broken group. Slumped in defeat. Marred by the growing realization that all of Zaine's efforts to broker a peace treaty and bolster trade had failed.

  “She said there'd be war,” Mia said eventually. “She sounded delighted about it. Zaine... everything he's worked for in ruins...”

  Quentin winced. “It's possible. The trads died. They were the ones most inclined for peace. That means the tribe votes will be balanced in favor of war now. The Western Reaches and Iron Reach will be in for a bad time.”

  “We can cope,” Servalan said, smashing her fists together. “Especially if we have this greenblood on our side. You know, there hasn't been one heard of for almost two hundred years. You're a rarity.”

  Yarrow's lips thinned. “I don't want to be part of anything. Especially if there's... death on a large scale. I keep myself under cover for a reason. It's easier.”

  “Unfortunately,” Servalan said, eyes hard, “I'm not sure you'll have a choice.”

  “Let her be if she wants. She came here of her own free will,” Helga said, feeling the need to stand up for Yarrow.

  “She saved me,” Mia said, lightly touching her chest where the bullet hole had been. “To think if you hadn't healed Helga back in the hospital a few weeks ago... if Quentin didn't fly here...”

  The silence weighed heavy on them all, as their minds filled in the gaps. The what ifs, the chances—until nothing remained but appreciation for their lives now.

  “I wasn't thinking straight,” Quentin said. “I just kept thinking of Helga—that she might be in trouble, too. Not that I did very much when I arrived.” His lip curled sardonically.

  Helga leaned into him, before looking into Yarrow's intense green eyes. “What will you do? Will you stay or go?”

  As if the question had galvanized her limbs, Yarrow stood up. “I'll go. If you truly need me again, you know where to find me. I just hope you don't.” Her fingers brushed Helga's cheek. Intimate, somehow.

  “I'll find you again anyway. I'll give you a staff.”

  At this, Servalan instantly gripped her staff and presented it to the woman. “Take this. Helga will make me another one. Please. It's the least we can offer.”

  Yarrow flushed. “Thank you.” She didn't refuse out of modesty. She reached for it, cradling the beautiful thing in her hands, before departing, escorted by Quentin to make sure she made it back safe. But not without one last check on the baby dragon, which slept peacefully, and a promise from Helga to let her come and see it again at some point.

  “That was nice of you,” Mia said.

  “We're steaming screwed, aren't we?” Servalan scratched at her head, frowning. Mia let out a soft groan.

  “I don't want to think about it.” Now she peered at the white dragon. “At least the egg hatched okay.”

  “Yeah. I heard their feathers are supposed to have healing properties,” Helga said, lightly stroking the dragon, as its eyes fluttered shut. “It won't be safe in the city.”

  “Not sure anywhere would be.”

  The three friends glanced unhappily at one another.

  Nothing left to do but to wait for Quentin, and Zaine.

  Chapter Eleven – Helga

  “They're refusing everything,” Zaine said, as he faced Mia, Helga, and Mauro. The stoneblood had returned to the mines in the north, intending to excavate better gems. Not that any of them sincerely believed she'd find one that matched the Star Rose.

  Helga could almost see Servalan oozing through the walls with her rockwalking ability. Pressing down into the deep rock, tons of solid matter around her, as she sought out treasures. She saw an army of huge, scaly green dragons, descending from the skies and attacking the Iron Reach. She saw herself stuck in he
r workshop, churning weapons for the magicians, heart bleeding at the fact that she would contribute to more death.

  Okay when her life was directly under threat. Not so okay when she systematically created death.

  “Guess that's it, then,” Mia said in a flat voice. “Everything we've worked for, and it was for nothing.”

  “Not nothing,” Zaine said. “You helped save lives. You rescued the Hinterlands broodmother, and Helga's got a little one that will one day grow and perhaps save what's left of their kind. You returned baby greens and baby reds.”

  “And they're going to raise those greens into war,” Mia said. “So we saved more lives so they could take.”

  A brief silence fell between them. Moods were low. Failure sank sharp teeth into everyone.

  “I need to find out who this traitor is,” Zaine said, pacing up and down, the storm brewing over his head. “I need them dead. Right now.”

  “I'm more interested in recruiting that greenblood Helga knows,” Mia said. “Don't know about you, but I think our side stands a much better chance if we can scoop up all the greenbloods. Can you imagine how difficult we'd be to kill?”

  “Small issue,” Quentin said in his melodious voice, and Helga's blood thrilled to hear it, “there hasn't been any greenbloods for centuries. This Yarrow may be the only one we'll find. You need Hinterlands ancestry to even have a chance of it.”

  “Really?” Helga said, furrowing her brow in confusion. “Why there?”

  “Well, that's what the Hinterlands dragons used to be famous for. Their green magic. It's why that area's so fertile in resources. They lost the powers a long time ago, but it pops out from time to time.”

  “So...” Helga took out her little dragon, watching as it looped lazily around her arm like a snake, “this thing can potentially heal?”

  “Maybe. Unlikely.” Quentin gave her a smile. “Getting a little big to fit down your front now, isn't it?”

  True. It grew fast. She should really give it a name. “I want to name it something. A cute name, maybe.”

  “Cute?” Now Zaine appeared aghast, momentarily snapped out of his bad mood. “Dragons don't have cute names.”

  “Oh, let them,” Quentin said. “We allow dragons to change their names when they're older, anyway. Otherwise everyone would be called 'Fang,' or 'Tiny.' I used to be called Little Red when I was a hatchling,” Quentin confessed to Helga, and she grinned. Mia let out a laugh.

  “Meep it is, then. Because it makes a sound like that.” Helga flicked the dragon's nose, and it made the appropriate sound in response.

  “Yeah. It's going to hate that name,” Zaine grumbled, but otherwise seemed mollified by the change of subject. Maybe the knowledge that he had a hatchling under his care prompted him to tamp down his mood. Or maybe some of the storm clouds had lifted away.

  “To Meep,” Mia said, laughing again when the dragon replied in kind.

  They couldn't stay sitting around for long. Zaine needed to hold an emergency council with the humans and his brother and sister—the one Helga remembered had been rescued from the factories a couple of months back. Mia would follow him, of course, all the while with the question of her mother gnawing at her.

  Leaving Quentin and Helga alone. At last. Helga lay Meep to rest by Zaine's fireplace, where the little dragon promptly curled up like a cat after a long, pleasing stretch and yawn.

  “I should go visit my mother and father, see how they're doing.” Helga paced towards the now-repaired window of the mansion, staring out to her workshop, where again everything lay safe. At least, until the next set of opportunistic thieves came along, or she simply moved. Helga didn't know if she'd be any safer anywhere else. Maybe she wouldn't be.

  A horrible vision of hopping into a hot air balloon and drifting across the sky to the ends of the earth, only to find people to rob her there, slithered into her mind. Part of her was distracting from the fact that it was just her and Quentin. Just them. Alone. And no one to interrupt them.

  “Or maybe they can wait a bit longer. They're safe enough, I assure you,” Quentin said, approaching Helga. Close enough to touch, maybe to tease his fingers into those invisible knots again. “I've been wanting to get you alone for a bit. Ever since we were interrupted by Servalan...”

  Helga shivered all over her body, in her soul. Already, her legs crumbled, but she held herself upright by sheer force of will.

  “It's all happening so fast... I feel like I've been plucked out of my home only a day ago, and then to have experienced all these things...”

  “I know what you mean.” Quentin took one more step. “I've been paying a life debt of abuse by my family, but it still doesn't seem long enough. I met my brother again on the other side—Varus Proudmoor. I don't usually get violent, it's not me, but... I seriously tried to kill him.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I wanted him dead.”

  “Good,” Helga said, warmth flowing through her. She tried to focus on Quentin's words, but more and more, her mind kept drifting to him. “You didn't succeed?”

  “No.” It came out as a soft breath near her ear. “And... when I was injured, when I was flying with Mia dying in my mouth, and Mauro hanging onto my back, all I could think of was returning to you. To see if you were in trouble as well. Things got a little fuzzy near the end, and I didn't really do a very good job of saving you, but...” Now his hands touched her shoulders, and her blood stirred to greater life. She inhaled sharply, everything bristling in electrical arousal. “... I'm glad it worked out.” His lips caressed her ear.

  “Me too,” Helga managed to choke. Every fiber in her wanted to spin around and take Quentin roughly. She also wanted to hear more about this Varus, whoever he was. If he'd bullied Quentin when he was younger, if they'd once been the best of siblings before Quentin's change of heart...

  “You know, one day, Zaine might allow me to have my own clan name. I won't be a Proudmoor. I'll be something else. I can start my own clan. Maybe then I can ask you to be a part of it.” Now his mouth moved down to her neck. “Maybe we can start a new life together then.”

  The next sound to slip out of Helga's lips was a groan. “That sounds... like a plan. Mm...” Her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned backwards into him, giving full access to her neck, and the other parts of her body. Quentin's hands flew, eagerly brushing over the clothes, and then tickling the flesh underneath. Arousal flooded her cheeks, burned her stomach, and she wondered for a brief second if she might just melt all over him. Though she'd never had sex before, her body certainly had some notions about what it wanted, and Helga knew enough to spin around, kiss Quentin passionately, and then lead him by the hand upstairs, careful not to wake up Meep with her giggles or steps.

  They stumbled into Helga's little room. Though she slept in the workshop on a single bed if she planned for long stints, she also had the guest room, decorated with only a bare minimum of her possessions.

  A guest room now put to wonderful use, as Quentin eagerly tore off her clothes, and Helga did likewise with his. His erection swelled, brushing against her thigh, and a lightning jolt of energy went through her. The fever of lust burned so strong that she just wanted him on the bed, wanted him inside, but he took a moment to reach for a condom, taking it out of a small bag and rolling it over his cock. Helga, exposed to him, now sat on the bed, watching this, her fingers lightly rubbing over the tops of her breasts, excited and nervous at the same time.

  He gave her a shy, wonderful smile, his features crinkled in affection, and she retraced his jawline, admiring the way the gaslight cast beautiful, shadowed angles over his cheekbones. Without his neat attire, he fit into a slender, partially toned body, smooth and a delight to feast upon. Definitely strength there. Most wouldn't expect it from him. He wore his scholarly appearance well, and carried an assuming demeanor, not wanting to push people around. He could, though.

  She sighed as he finally crawled on top of her, and carefully positioned himself, making sure he didn't hurt her. His e
yes traced over the scars on her arms, caused by sparks of heat. His fingers followed suit, and she closed her eyes, feeling a strange urge to cry, though she didn't really know why.

  He did this for every “imperfection” upon her skin—from the mole on her shoulder, to some more marks that acted like scarred freckles on her sides.

  “You never gave up, did you?” He began kissing along her left arm. “It's all mapped on you—your love for creation.”

  Helga's throat blocked up. She didn't know what to say to that. If she could say anything without ruining the strength of his words, and the way they burrowed inside.

  “Guess... I can say the same for you then, huh. I can't imagine it being easy to fight to prove you're not who you were raised to be.”

  The lump in Quentin's throat bobbed, and something shimmered in the corners of his eyes, before he broke the moment by moving his erection inside her. Helga arched her back, letting out a soft moan, swimming in the sensations that flooded her.

  It became rather hard to think after that, beyond the realms of their own pleasure, and reaching climax together. His arms braced on either side of her, and his chest rubbed against hers. The hip movements grew more frantic and hungry, as they sought purchase on one another, trying to rule the flow of emotions.

  Not that either of them succeeded. Helga scratched at Quentin's smooth back as her orgasm roared inside, and she let out a series of strangled moans, all her strength punched out of her with the wave. Quentin sped up his movements as well, bracing his forehead into the pillow, his cheek rubbing against hers. She loved the way he felt moving against her, and every part of skin he touched tingled and sizzled. He let out a soft gasp as he came, slowing down his movements instantly. Their racing hearts thumped against one another, and Helga's body burned so hotly that she needed to push Quentin off before she combusted. They lay side by side, grinning like idiots, drunk on the sex.

  Something Helga certainly wouldn't mind at some point in the future. Quentin, breathing like a bellows, sighed and stared up at the ceiling, before closing his eyes. Helga watched him for a moment, opened her mouth to say something, then realized, with a jolt of amusement, that he was snoring.