by Ariana Nash
He knew what happened next. It had been the same for hours now. Days, even.
The male came forward, blocking more light, lessening its stab against Eroan’s light-sensitive eyes. He turned his face away, but the male’s proud outline still burned in his mind. Other images burned there too. The male’s half-smile, the glitter of dragon-sight in his green eyes. Eroan had rarely gotten so close to their kind without killing them.
His mission would have been successful if not for this one.
“You need to eat.” The male’s gravelly undertone rumbled.
He needed nothing from him.
A tray clattered against the stone floor. The sweet smell of fruit turned Eroan’s hollow stomach.
Moments passed. The male’s rhythmic breathing, slow and steady, accompanied the scent of warm leather rising from his hooded cloak, and with it the lemony bite of all dragonkin. A scent most elves were taught to flee from.
“Were you alone, elf?” the dragonkin asked. The questions were the same every time. “Will there be another attempt on her life? How many of your kind are left in our lands?” More questions.
Always the same. And not once had Eroan answered.
Steely fingers suddenly dug into Eroan’s chin, forcing him to look, to see. Up close, the dragonkin’s green eyes seemed as brittle and sharp as glass, like a glance could cut. His smile was a sharp thing too.
“I could torture you.” The dragonkin’s smile vanished behind a sneer.
Eroan’s straining arms twitched, and the chains slung above his head rattled against stone. He has me in body, but not in spirit. He gave him nothing, no sneer, no wince, just peered deep into the dragonkin’s eyes. Eyes that had undoubtedly seen the death of a thousand elves, that had witnessed villages burn. If they had souls, this dragon’s would be dark. He could torture me. He should. Why does he wait?
Eroan recalled that cold look when their swords had clashed. He’d cut through countless tower guards, severing them from their life-strings as easily as snipping at thread, but not this one. This one had refused to fall. This dragonkin had fought with a passion not found in the others, as though their battle were a personal one. Either he truly loved the queen he protected, or he was a creature full of fiery hate that scorched whatever he touched.
The dragonkin’s fingers tightened, digging in, hurting, but just as the pain became too sharp, he tore his hand free and stepped back, grunting dismissively.
Eroan collapsed against the wall, letting the chains hold him. Cold stone burned into raw skin. His shoulder muscles strained and twitched. Pain throbbed down his neck too, but he kept his head up, kept it turned away.
“I cannot…” Whatever the dragon had been about to say, he let it trail off and reached for the ornate brooch fixing the cloak around his neck, teasing his fingers over the serpent design.
Eroan wondered idly if he could kill him with that brooch pin. Of course, to do that, he’d need to be free.
The dragon saw him watching and dropped his hand. “You do not have long, elf.” His jeweled eyes glowed. Myths told of how the dragonkin were made of glass and forged inside great fire-spewing mountains in a frozen land. Not this one. This one had something else inside. Some other wildfire fueling him.
The dragon turned, sweeping his cloak around him, and headed out the door.
“What is your name?” The question growled over Eroan’s tongue and scratched over cracked lips. He almost didn’t recognize the rumbling voice as his own.
The dragon hesitated, then partially turned his head to peer over his shoulder. The fire was gone from his eyes, and something else lurked there now, some softer weakness that belied everything Eroan had seen. His cheek fluttered, an inner war raging.
The answer would have a cost, Eroan realized. He shouldn’t have asked. He let his head drop, tired of holding it up, of holding himself up. Tiredness ate at his body and bones. The shivers started up again, rattling the chains and weakening his defiance. This dragonkin was right. He did not have long.
“My name is Lysander.”
The door slammed, the lock clunked, and Eroan was plunged into darkness.
Read Silk & Steel, the dark fantasy by Ariana Nash, in 2019. Join the Ariana Nash Facebook group here and see snippets, cover reveals, and competitions first.
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The Dragon Queen’s reign is one of darkness and death. Humans have vanished under the rubble of their world and if the queen has her way, elves will be next.
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Eroan, one of the last elven assassins, lives for one purpose: kill the queen. He would have succeeded if not for her last line of defense: Prince Lysander. Now, captured and forced into the queen’s harem, Eroan sees another opportunity. Why kill just the queen when he can kill them all? It would be simple, if not for the troubled and alluring prince. A warrior, a killer, and something else… something Eroan finds himself inexplicably drawn to.
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Trapped in a life he despises, Lysander knows his time is running out. If the queen doesn’t kill him for his failures, her enemies will. There’s nothing left to live for, until an elf assassin almost kills him. A stubborn, prideful, fool of an elf who doesn’t know when to quit. An elf who sparks a violent, forbidden desire in Lysander. If Lysander can’t save himself, maybe he can save the elf and maybe, just maybe… one stubborn elf will be enough to bring down the queen before she kills them all.
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Duty demands they fight for their people. Love has other plans.
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Read the scorching dark m/m paranormal romance in 2019!
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Add Silk & Steel to your Goodreads To-Read shelves here.
Also by Ariana Nash
Writing dark fantasy LGBT
Sealed with a Kiss, 0.5 Silk & Steel
(free to Ariana Nash subscribers)
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Silk & Steel, Silk & Steel #1
Iron & Fire, Silk & Steel #2
