Dragon Memories: A High Fantasy Reverse Harem Romance (Legacy of Blood and Magic Book 2)

by Lacey Carter Andersen

  His slow gaze swept over her, cloudy with drink. “Let me tell you something about your precious virginity. You’d be much better off giving it to a man like me, experienced in bed, than whatever man your dad sells you off too, like some mare in heat.”

  She stepped back, her hands unconsciously drifting to the hilt of her sword. “I. Don’t. Want. You.” She emphasized each word. “I hired you to be my guide.”

  Faster than she could react, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it over her sword hilt. “Your loss.” The shadows that crossed his face as the firelight danced over it made her heart skip a beat. “But don’t kid yourself into thinking I’d force myself on you. I only offered for your benefit.”

  The urge to flee clouded her thoughts, and she almost did just that, when a movement caught her eye. Just behind Acker’s shoulder, a man crept out of the shadows: tattooed and holding a curved blade. His odd clothing and miniature frame marked him as one of the Cahula.

  Fear made her blood run cold.

  He’s going to kill Acker.

  And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  2

  Kadelynn

  It took Acker a painfully long time to turn around as the man raised his blade over the Seer’s head. Firelight danced off the wicked sword and time stood still. She could pull her blade free and leap at the man, but no matter how fast she was, he’d be faster.

  What do I do? She looked between the two men as they stared each other down.

  And why does the Cahula hesitate?

  Everything she knew of their kind made her certain that he would kill both her and Acker before the night had passed. The only question would be if he drained them first or not. Unless, of course, Acker was fast with his Seer magic and could simply kill the man with a thought… which he wasn’t doing for some reason.

  She shivered, remembering the stories of what both the Cahula and the Seer were capable of doing. This man is dangerous. Too dangerous. So why is Acker just staring at him?

  “If you’re going to try to kill us, old man, better do it quickly.” Acker challenged him, breaking the silence.

  She held her breath, the hilt of her blade curled into her palm.

  The Cahula man lowered his sword, and a smile darted across his wrinkled face. “Acker. Should have known.” The words come out slow and broken, heavy with an accent that made the words sound aggressive, even though she suspected they weren’t.

  “Ekrem, good to see you,” Acker greeted, his face suddenly breaking into a smile.

  The old man darted back into the shadows and returned with bags heaped over one of his humped shoulders. “Join you at your fire?” he asked.

  Acker motioned to the log beside him, and the old man limped over, dumped his bags on the log, and collapsed onto it with a groan.

  “Long day. Good to see a friend.” The old man sat still, grasping his shaking hands until Acker handed him one of the fish. “A good friend!” Ekrem exclaimed, taking the fish.

  But he didn’t eat it. Instead, he laid it across his lap and viciously dug his sharp fingertips into its side, closing his eyes as he did so, and murmuring to himself. A second later, he tore off some of its pale flesh and dropped it into his open mouth, like a bird gobbling up a worm.

  “A waste.”

  Acker took a bite of his own fish. “Just eat and be grateful I’m sharing.”

  The man shook his head. “Sorry. The fish is good. Just wish I’d come sooner.”

  “Don’t waste your regret; I wouldn’t have let you have its Life Essence anyway.”

  “Ugh,” she whispered, then realized she’d spoken the word around.

  That’s when they both seemed to notice her standing there, her hand on her hilt. Their backs stiffened, almost in unison. Ekrem’s gaze swept over her, his expression thoughtful. But Acker’s annoyance blazed back into life, unconcealed as his mouth curled and his nostrils flared. The old man mumbled something to Acker in a choppy, ungraceful language, bringing an unkind laugh to Acker.

  “He’s wondering if you’re simple.”

  She stiffened. “And why’s that?”

  “Because you’re staring at us like an idiot.”

  Clenching her hilt, she tried to keep her words even. “Why is he here? In our camp?”

  As she spoke, Acker ate his fish, ripping off large pieces. When she stopped talking, he spoke with his mouth full. “Ekrem is a trader too. We work together a lot, especially since he isn’t allowed in most of your people’s towns.”

  “Is he planning on camping with us tonight?”

  “Ekrem’s a Cahula,” Acker explained, in his familiar mocking voice. “He travels at night.”

  Oh, right, the disgusting creatures can’t handle sunlight. And yet, the man looked like he was settling in with them.

  She hated to ask him, but she did anyway. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Acker elbowed the old man, speaking in his clipped language. Whatever he said drew a hearty laugh from Ekrem, whose gaze lingered on her again. She wanted to demand they speak her language in front of her, but a small part of her thought she might be better off not knowing what they were saying.

  “It means,” Acker spoke slowly, “the Cahula don’t do well in sunlight, so Ekrem travels during the night and travels during the day. He’s probably just starting out, which means he probably won’t be camping with us. So. Relax. Sit down. And stop being rude. Or didn’t your father teach you any manners?”

  She hated the way he spoke to her. Craved to take her sword and teach him some manners of her own. Only… he was stronger than her, had magic, likely knew how to use the sword lying ignored on his pile of bags, and had the Cahula man to help him subdue her, even if she could get her sword to his throat before he could react.

  Damn ass!

  Reaching down, she picked up her fish from where it’d fallen in the leaves. With less grace than she wanted, she strode to her blankets and dragged them to the other side of the fire, as far from Acker and his new friend as possible. She settled herself there, without looking at them, with the cold, burnt, and dirty fish on her lap. If she wasn’t so hungry, she would’ve tossed it in the fire. Instead, even though it hurt her pride, she brushed off the dirt and leaves and ate.

  All the while, the two men talked, sometimes in her language, and sometimes in Cahulian. Eventually, she learned they were negotiating. A few times their voices rose, and she held her breath, waiting for things to come to blows. But inevitably, they’d calm down.

  When they were finished, they went through their bags, switching items. Acker acquired a number of grass-woven rugs or tapestries, which he rolled tightly and stored in his bags, along with a plentitude of tiny glass bottles, all containing different items: herbs, black and brown liquids, and things that looked more cynical in the firelight. Fingers? Eyes perhaps? She couldn’t be sure. In exchange, Ekrem took two large bottles of pale-colored wine, a fist-sized bag with a drawstring, which he peeked in and then closed before she could see, and a dagger.

  “You can’t sell him a dagger!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.

  Both men turned to look at her.

  “Why not?” Acker challenged. “Because it’s against your laws?”

  “No one is to sell them blades, upon penalty of death.” She repeated the well-known law, again wishing you hadn’t spoken, but knowing she couldn’t back down now.

  “Seers don’t follow the laws of Stonebuilders. But you can always try to enforce them.”

  Ekrem watched their exchange with mild interest, but when she didn’t respond to Acker’s challenge, the old man rose from his seat. He knelt by the fireside and withdrew the dagger from its leather sheath. The crude piece of metal caught the leaping flames, drawing an appreciative sound from the old man. She watched him as he grazed his fingertip along the sharp edge, drawing dark blood from his broken skin.

  “Nice. Will fetch a good price.”

  Acker was suddenly holding the bottle of Wipenho
l. “The deal’s done then. Want a drink?”

  The old man hid the dagger in his bags and then turned to face Acker. When he caught sight of the liquor, his eyes lit. “Wipenhol?”

  Acker grinned and took a sip. “I’m a good friend to be willing to share.”

  “Yes,” he hurried over and took the bottle, taking a small sip and groaning in pleasure. “So good.”

  “Have more. I don’t like to drink alone.”

  The old man complied, drinking greedily. This time, when he was finished, he lowered the bottle, visibly shaking. “It’s been too long.”

  They ignored her as they drank more and more, jumping between languages, and filthy stories, most involving easy women or good trades. From her position across the fire, she casually analyzed the two men. Ekrem’s tattoos were as unlike Acker’s as night and day. Although she couldn’t see the details, they were ugly things, blotches and lines that deepened his wrinkles and marred his skin. They’d been done with little care, by either a cruel hand or an untrained one. Either way, they stood at odds with his paper white flesh.

  He wore a large brown scarf wrapped loosely around his head, and an oversized tunic with loose, square sleeves that came down to his thighs, where loose pants billowed before tapering at his ankles. Pointed boots finished his odd, unflattering, brown clothes. Merchants in her town had described the old Cahula traders who came in at night to trade, but being told of one, and seeing one, were two completely different things.

  And then there was Acker. It startled her that his people were simply a different tribe in these lands. The only similarity between the two was that they both bore black tattoos on their faces. Otherwise, their skin tones, hair color, and height were at complete odds. Ekrem couldn’t have been five feet tall, while Acker towered over him, taller than her own height, at well over six feet tall. She stored away this observation, feeling it was somehow important.

  As the night wore on, she slowly let her guard down. Neither man seemed to notice she was even there. Exhaustion crept through her body.

  Digging through her bags, she pulled out a sturdy dagger Sergeant had packed and her Sundust. She opened the container, then paused. She’d sprinkled it in a circle around her every night since they’d entered The Wilds. Its main purpose was to stop the Cahula from attacking her in her sleep. There seemed no better time to use it than when one of the savage people sat in her camp, but she also feared angering or offending him.

  Over and over again, she opened and closed the lid, but couldn’t decide what to do, when she looked up and saw Acker watching her from across the fire. With deliberate movements, he shook his head. It took no more than a couple of seconds, then he was back to laughing and talking with Eckrem. A tiny part of her fluttering heart thought it was nothing more than a trick of the leaping flames, that he’d never looked at her at all, but she put the container away.

  Lying down, she pulled the covers over her body and settled the sheathed dagger on her chest. Logic told her not to sleep, but the wearying day tore at her, urging her to close her eyes. Sleep seemed an impossible goal, so she sought a moment to rest her mind more than anything else, but even that was difficult to achieve. A chill crept through her insides, colder than the windy night or the freezing ground. Yet, gradually her grip on her dagger eased, and her mind brushed the boundary of the dream world.

  And she was sucked in.

  3

  Kadelynn

  It happened so quickly she wasn’t even able to gasp before she painfully struck the ground on her knees. Her legs trembled from the impact. Blood pumped through her veins as she accepted a frightening thought: dreams didn’t hurt.

  So where am I, if I’m not dreaming?

  A camp spread out on both sides of her, made up of strange, circular structures. And even though their foreignness left her feeling entirely out of touch from reality, it also comforted her to have some idea of what she was dealing with. Magic. The world alone sent ice uncurling in her belly, but she knew no good could come from panicking, Sergeant had taught her that. She needed to focus on figuring a way out of this strange dream world.

  Vaguely she had a sense of another more recent dream, but it drifted away like a trick of the light. And she turned her focus to the dream she was now caught within.

  Just behind the camp, a pale blue mist grew, whispering of magic. When she acknowledged it, the mist shifted, creeping along the ground and sending translucent tentacles winding around her ankles. But she didn’t feel even a whisper of danger in it; instead, the mist aroused her curiosity.

  She rose to her feet, wondering at the force that could command her dreams. An image of the Cahula man came to her mind, and she clenched her hands, only belatedly realizing she no longer held her dagger. But even though she couldn’t be certain he wasn’t responsible, she still clung to the calmness of her dream as a sign she was in no danger.

  She took a step and heard the whisper of fabric as it brushed her skin. Looking down, she was startled by her unusual clothing. A long, loose-sleeved tunic draped her frame, stopping at her mid-thighs, but with slits that reached the sides of her waist, giving a peek at her pale flesh. It was made of a luxurious fabric and decorated in a pattern of golden dragons. Beneath her tunic, black legging came to her ankles, while her feet remained bare. The unusual cut, the bold colors, and the intricate design were unlike anything she’d seen before.

  The mist around her ankles tugged at her, almost causing her to stumble. But she caught herself before she fell and moved in the opposite direction, towards a large fire in the center of the camp. From here, she could better make out the collection of oddly circular structures that stretched out to both sides of her. Most were dark inside, but through the tan fabric that wrapped them, she could make out small flickering lights in a few.

  There was no wind, not even the sound of the fire crackling, all was silent. The mist tugged at her again, but more gently than before. Something inside her rebelled against the idea of being led to some unknown destination, but a logical part of her reasoned that she had nothing better to do, and that it might lead her back to the waking world.

  Even though the camp was warm, she shivered, thinking of her unprotected body, left with the two men. I need to get back.

  The mist tugged her along until she came to one of the buildings. A golden dragon was carved on the pale wooden door. Its eyes were made of rubies, but as she watched them, tears flowed from the unblinking gems. Pity rushed through her, and she reached up to brush away one of the crystal tears. But as her fingertip touched the liquid, the door swung open to reveal a room.

  The mist tugged again, leading her inside. Behind her, the door shut silently. A blazing fire toward the left side of the room lit everything in a welcoming glow, but as before, it made no sound. The wood that burned sat on a massive ivory bowl set low in the ground. Around it, dozens of golden pillows of various sizes and shapes formed a near-perfect circle, broken only by a pathway.

  She walked through it and sat down beside the fire, reaching just close enough to the fire to accept that it did indeed radiate warmth. Then, she ran her hands along the intricately decorated pillows, amazed both by the skill of the stitchery and the softness of the material. Such richness indicated its occupant must have been important.

  She frowned. The other side of the room told a different story, almost as if the room was a violent clash of a bare-bones-general and a noble. Maps lined the walls. Dirty brown rugs littered the floor. She rose and crossed the room, noticing for the first time the dust that clung to her bare feet, before stopping before one of the maps. It was of the Prairie Lands. The Cowardly Ones’ lands were marked in red, while the rest of the lands were divided in numbered, equal black squared.

  Many of the black squares had brown X’s over them. On the sides of the map, there were numbers, dashes, and notes. One read: “2- one member briefly felt something, but couldn’t locate source”. Whoever the map belonged to, they were searching for something.

&n
bsp; Moving on, she came to a large, colorful map. She traced her fingers over it, frowning. The Prairie Lands sat in the center. In different colors, it showed the other realms that surrounded it, branching out until it reached the realms that bordered the Great Ocean. But the names of the realms she was familiar with were different, and a few extras had been added.

  The most significant of which was the Drop Off. It was one of the realms that bordered the Prairie Lands, but it was one from which no one had returned from. Signs had been added along the length of the realm with warnings, discouraging people from crossing over. Just as one of their other bordering realms, that of the Faceless Horrors, was lined with warning signs. But on this map, the Drop Off showed an enormous island surrounded by a thin band of water and then a lush forest with a great lake in the middle. Whoever had made the map must’ve made a dangerous mistake.

  She allowed her fingers to linger a moment longer on the realm labeled Olarata, before moving past the other similar maps to the desk. It occupied much of that end of the room, with long legs made of the same pale wood as the door. But as she rounded the desk, anticipation quickened her movements.

  Pulling out the sturdy chair, she gently removed the large stack of papers from the desk top, setting them down on the chair, and then stood back in shock. Black, brown, tan, and white, streaked and spotted wood came together to create a picture of a dragon in flight. Wings spread, soaring against clouds in a star-speckled sky. It took her breath away. But it was the face of the dragon, turned towards her, that surprised her more than anything else. How can wood be carved to create such a look of beauty and intelligence? And what fanciful mind has placed human emotions into such a blood-thirsty beast?

  In the corner of the desk, a silver unidentifiable sign whirled; the symbol of whatever blind Elf had constructed the piece. Hesitantly, she brushed her fingertips against the wood. A shiver ran through her. Whoever occupied the room loved this desk. Their connection to it soared through her body, making her feel for a moment the intensity of their passion.