Ash Bringer (A Storm of Fire: Paranormal Dragonshifter Romance Book 1)

by Courtney Leigh

  As if his kiss shocked me back to life, I felt a second wind weave through my blood. Draven’s kiss grew more primal, his tongue deep inside my mouth before he drew back and reached down, maneuvering my pants off my legs. Before I knew it, he’d rid me of my pants and boots and started kissing his way back up my body. I watched him as he slid his tongue gently along the soft flesh of my stomach and over my navel, lifting my shirt off my abdomen just enough to taste a bit more of me before he stood. As his tall form straightened again, he took my thighs firmly in his hands and lifted me off the ground, wrapping my legs around his hips before his mouth was back on mine. We wanted each other and we were indulging.

  Pressing me against the rock wall, Draven’s granite hard erection plunged inside me again, filling me with demand. I could hardly believe how much I still wanted him after the release I’d just experienced. I felt as if I could do this all day long and not tire of it. Maybe it was the mark. Maybe I was crazy. Whatever it was, Draven was satisfying those urges and I had no intention of stopping him. Not yet. Each thrust made me want him more until I was sure it was some trick. I couldn’t quite accept that I was in my right mind now because, more than anything, I wanted him, over and over and over again. A Draak.

  29

  Everly

  . . .

  What was I doing? What was I thinking? Not once, but twice now I had given myself to Draven. I sat up, knees to my chest, arms coiled around myself, deep in thought. I’d gotten mostly dressed, but I still felt disheveled and naked, especially with Draven nearby. He was crouched by the stream. After taking a few sips from his cupped palm, he splashed some water on his face and slicked it back into his hair, redoing the hair tie after our energetic encounter had pulled it mostly free from the knot. As he stood, I rose to my feet at the same time, pulling my hair over one shoulder to tightly braid the tangled tresses together.

  Grabbing my boots, I sat down on a larger rock to put them on. As I did, I noticed the brand beneath my sleeve peeking out. I was unable, in that moment, to figure out how I felt about it. Pretending to ignore it, I tightened my boots and stood just as Draven was coming toward me. Our eyes caught each other and my confusion redoubled. I felt like a ball being bounced between two walls, unable to stop. Either I hated him...or I didn’t. If I didn’t, then I really had no idea what I felt for him. Affection was a silly word. Did I even care about him or was I just drunk on the things he made me feel?

  Draven didn’t speak either. He was as silent as he was beautiful. Instead of seeing a sly smirk form on his lips, he stared at me with a sense of longing that I didn’t expect. I could feel the thoughts turning in his head and in that small instance, I wondered if he was unsure what he was feeling for me as well. We were both lost. Both tangled in the strings of desire and regret. Both feeling attachment where there should have been hate.

  Dammit, I cursed myself, my body so aware of him that it burned.

  “Come,” Draven said, gesturing for me to follow him back across the bank to Jericho.

  There was something deeper happening to me. He wasn’t just in my head. His touch didn’t just reach my skin. What he was doing to me, whether he knew it or not, burrowed deeper than all of that, like a seed in the center of my being, growing every time I was with him now.

  “I can hear your thoughts, you know,” he said, stopping to turn to me.

  “What?” I asked, alarmed.

  “Or rather I can hear you thinking,” he corrected, turning to untie Jericho’s reins from the branch.

  “Of course I’m thinking,” I said, crossing my arms over myself, both from the cold and the fact that I was so unsure about myself now that I barely even felt real.

  Draven held out a hand, beckoning for me to mount the stallion first. I didn’t really have the energy to resist anything at the moment and slipped my foot into the stirrup, lifting myself onto the saddle. I was about to scoot back to give Draven room to climb up himself, but before I could, he leapt up into the saddle behind me, his arms surrounding me when he took the reins. Great. His hard chest was against my back, the beat of his heart sending ripples through my body. His arms, which once terrified me, now felt like an embrace through which nothing could hurt me. Nothing...except for him.

  Jericho adopted an easy pace back toward the manor. All the while, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I stared ahead at the greenery, holding my breath periodically to keep from letting my heart beat out of control. As I sunk deeper into my inner contemplations, I felt one of Draven’s arms wrap around my waist, holding me gently.

  “You’re trembling,” he said, his voice close to my ear.

  “I’m cold.”

  “No you’re not,” Draven said, seeing through me like I was a piece of well polished glass.

  “I’m…” I began, my thoughts slowly rising to my lips. “I’m confused,” I admitted softly.

  He seemed to consider my words for several long moments. I concentrated on my heartbeat, begging it not to race while my stomach threatened knots. Finally, he said, “Don’t be. You humans react strongly toward us. It’s natural.”

  I raised a brow, my skin flushing hot.

  “Of course,” I said, gaining back my nerve.

  I clenched my jaw, moving to dismount only to feel Draven’s grip around me tighten. I struggled a bit, making Jericho trot forward with a slight start. Draven calmed him with a light tug on the reins and pulled me tight against his chest, catching my arms beneath his.

  “Hey,” he said in a near whisper. “What’s unnatural is the way I’m reacting to you.”

  Every muscle in my body stopped fighting. Even my breath halted in my throat. I turned toward my shoulder, feeling Draven’s breath on my cheek, and took a moment to listen to the calming beat of his heart.

  “The women from your old world,” I asked. “What were they like?”

  Draven took a deep breath that pressed hard against my shoulders and let it out in a hot cloud of steam.

  “Strong,” he said. “Powerful and demanding in ways that are hard to explain. But still gentle enough to nurture their young and calm the minds of hot-headed males that thought we were the dominant ones.”

  “Could they get in your heads like the witches?”

  “No. But they got to us in different ways. They knew how to calm a raging fire and we loved them for it.”

  “Hmf. Calming a raging fire isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

  “No, you tend to feed it,” Draven scoffed.

  “I don’t mean to. I grew up hating the world more than most and Draak are its rulers. Fire took everything from me.” I turned to my shoulder again. “Both times.”

  “I can’t take back what—”

  “No one can,” I cut him off. “The difference between us is that you have hundreds of years to forget about your mistakes. Humans have to live with theirs until they die.”

  “We don’t forget about our mistakes. We just get angrier.”

  “No one’s as angry as you.”

  Draven was quiet for a moment before speaking in a softer tone.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he said.

  Was this the same man who’d branded me? He certainly wasn’t speaking like him. I felt Draven’s hand gently move the neckline of my shirt off my shoulder, exposing the tattooed scars to the cool air. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at them, his fingers caressing the curve of my neck.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

  “You’re kissed by fire,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t call it that.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’d call it. . Flames only consume the things they desire. Warm, until you get too close. Then they destroy you.”

  “Am I getting too close?” I whispered with a tremble.

  Draven turned his head down, his lips very nearly touching my scarred shoulder. His hand relaxed, sliding down my forearm until it rested atop mine. It lingered there for a while. Then his
fingers traveled up again, pulling the sleeve of my shirt with them until the brand on my wrist was exposed. He caressed it with his thumb, sighing.

  “After the gala,” he spoke softly, “I can remove it.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Ash Bringers can. Our mothers were witches, remember? The mark started with us.”

  “Why after the gala?”

  “A hateful woman with a brand she doesn’t want is a much more convincing story to tell a rebel leader. You’re shackled to someone you hate. You want out.”

  “Tek didn’t seem to buy that.”

  “Tek didn’t have the same mindset as Rikard. Besides, if you still have the mark until we figure this out, I’ll always be able to find you.”

  We emerged from the woods and came to the vast, grassy yard in front of the manor just as the sun sank between some low clouds and dimmed the sky. The idea of removing the chains that bound me to Draven excited me, yet I couldn’t deny that part of me didn’t mind being tied to him anymore. With some amount of horror, I realized a tiny fraction of me might even miss it if we were severed. Surely that was just the effect of the brand, right?

  We came to the stables and, deep in thought, I barely remembered I had to dismount. Draven dropped down first, the weight of his boots landing on the ground snapping me out of a mild hypnosis. I looked at him to see his hand outstretched to help me down. I swung a leg over Jericho’s neck and slid off the saddle and into Draven’s hands. He caught me and lowered me gently from the tall stallion. There was a moment when I could see through the destructive flames in his eyes and caught a glimpse of what was behind them. Cool, calm streams of thought buried deep beneath fiery impulse. It was so entrancing I couldn’t tear my gaze away again.

  The moment stretched on until Jericho stamped an impatient hoof. Draven took a breath and pushed past me to unbuckle his saddle and bridle.

  Why was I seeing more to this creature? He wasn’t a human and he definitely wasn’t kind or nurturing, not in the way most women wanted men to be, and yet I felt myself falling for him more and more.

  “Why come here in the first place?” I said, trying to distract myself.

  Draven cocked his head as he retrieved Jericho’s grooming supplies.

  “I mean, to our world,” I said softly.

  “You know the stories,” Draven said, his voice sensually low. He handed me a brush and started working a curry comb through Jericho’s coat.

  “I know one story, but there’s more isn’t there? You didn’t come here to rule over us. It was just a side effect, wasn’t it?”

  I watched as Draven kept a stoic expression plastered to his face. He’d practiced it for centuries and wasn’t going to break now for a twenty-seven year old human, but his expression didn’t matter. He was a part of me now, temporarily or not, and I could sense I was striking a chord.

  “What happened to your home?” I continued as we both cleaned the big horse. “To your women? I want to know from you and not from rumors or a dull story old men tell.”

  Draven took a deep breath and kept brushing. I waited patiently while we finished grooming the stallion and Draven led him into his stall for the night, wondering if I was going to get an answer. Turning, Draven began walking toward the stable doors to leave, but he swiped my hand on the way.

  “Come with me,” he said softly.

  He led me out onto the path going to the manor. I walked stiffly most of the way, hoping no one would see us and start asking questions I didn’t really have answers for yet. I half expected Draven to let go of me eventually, but he didn’t. I looked down at his grip and slowly closed my fingers around his until the hold was mutual, cursing myself the entire time.

  We walked up the steps to the front porch and stepped through the thick, mahogany doors. From there, Draven turned right and led me down a hallway that I’d never really cared to explore before. It looked old and was never lit and the windows were always covered with thick curtains, making the passage seem dreary and in shadow. Walking down it gave me a heavy feeling like I was wading knee-deep in water. There were no lights or even switches, but Draven navigated the hall with ease. I squeezed his hand a little tighter, surprised that I was clinging to him. As if he would protect me.

  At the end of the hall was an old door. Older, it seemed, than the rest of the house. The wood was unpolished, thick, and layered in rows of metal like something in a horror movie. Convinced I was being led to some medieval dungeon, I swallowed and prepared for the worst. Draven lifted the metal hatch and pushed the door open. It whined, like the hinges hadn’t been moved in years, and from the darkness behind it I could smell dust and leather and a hint of old candle wax.

  Draven stepped through the entrance, but I stopped, putting tension on our joined hands. He looked back at me from the shadows, his eyes glowing slightly in the dark like heated metal.

  Part of me remembered his cruelties and all the warnings I’d grown up with about Draak. Somehow, however, everything I’d learned turned to dust and I found myself stepping past the threshold and following Draven into the chamber. He turned toward the wall before we ventured deeper and blew on a small, metal cone bolted to the brick. The top of the cone flashed to life until a flame was burning steadily and lighting our way. As we descended a stone stairway further into the mysterious room, he blew his breath over multiple other torches and lit them, shedding a warm, orange light into a round room at the bottom of the steps.

  Draven let go of my hand to walk to the other side of the space and light three more fires that were propped on the walls in metal bowls filled with oil. I stood in the middle of what appeared to be a small library. There were three shelves, all filled with old, leather-bound books, scrolls, and boxes. There were multiple pieces of art hanging on the walls in numerous styles and a couple tables stacked with what the untrained eye might see as junk. I immediately saw unique artifacts covered in years worth of dust.

  As Draven began lighting half-melted candles that were scattered on the tables in hardened pools of their own wax, I found myself staring at a large canvas that covered a good portion of the wall beside me. It took me a moment to see the image that was painted on it.

  I could see a cosmos painted in what used to be vivid purples, reds, and blues. A bright sun was in the middle, made with circular strokes that all wound in a graceful whirlpool and faded from one shade to the next. Around the sun were more circular strokes in dark red and black. Up close, it seemed almost abstract, but when I tilted my head a bit I could see that the dark colors made the shape of a dragon, its mouth agape toward the sun. It’s long neck and body coiled around, flowing with the graceful curves of its massive wings and fading into pleasant, blue and violet shades freckled with white stars.

  “Vicar Ernoulet,” Draven said, stepping up beside me and looking at the painting. “He was a bit of a madman. One of the many who thought Draak should be revered as gods. He made this just before the Grey War.”

  “The Grey War,” I said. “That was the first war, right? Between man and Draak. 980 AD. Were you even here for that? I thought you were part of the second wave.”

  “You know your history.”

  “Taurus did. Just because he was a Pike doesn’t mean he was an idiot. He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for.”

  “Slayers do like to know their enemies,” Draven said under his breath, his fingers twirling the metal ring on his thumb. I glared, but he paid no attention and continued. “It was called the Grey War because the terrain was covered in ash for years after. Man and Draak were at each other’s throats, as usual. They first saw us as gods and then as something else.”

  “Yeah, well, man always destroys its gods at some point and creates new ones,” I said. “People tire of oppression. It was inevitable that they would fight back.”

  “That’s a lie people tell themselves to feel better. Humans are easy to convince. They’re always looking for something to follow. Something to carry the burden of their ba
d behavior. It’s God’s fault. It’s our fault. It’s the devil’s fault. And Draak weren’t trying to oppress. Man enjoys believing in a higher purpose and, at the time, we were the power that gave it to them. Admittedly, some Draak abused that power, but—”

  “Evil isn’t a race or a species?” I cut him off, drawing his gaze again. “I’m learning, too.”

  Draven turned his attention to another piece of art on the wall. It was smaller and mounted in an old, wood frame that was blackened around the edges. A charcoal image showed a woman burning in flames and from her flames emerged a man, his head craned back in what looked like an agonized scream.

  “Back before the Grey War, our race had just undergone a large change that we didn’t understand yet,” Draven explained. “Before my generation there were the Leviathan. Massive, black dragons who couldn’t shift into men like we can. They were monsters. It was when they met the Zephyre that they were given the ability to shift. So, technically, the Zephyre were the ones looking for mates and they made the Leviathan suitable. Beasts in the bodies of men. Good for little more than breeding and killing. From their union came the Ash Bringers, otherwise known as Reds.

  “Zephyre intelligence was bred into them and the generations of us that followed, but we were still unpredictable. We had a power that we couldn’t control. A hunger. A heat inside us that we didn’t understand. It eventually destroyed our world and forced us to scatter to new ones. Some, as you know, arrived here centuries before myself and my brothers did.”

  “The first wave,” I nodded, recalling Taurus’s teachings. “That’s where all the virgin sacrifice stories came from, huh?”

  Draven nodded. “Like I said, we didn’t know ourselves yet. Draak tried to mate with women not knowing it would kill them. It happened on other worlds, too. Here, humans of that time thought it was magic so they offered sacrifices, and over and over Draak tried to breed, and again and again Pikes were born and the mothers burned in their fire. Eventually, humans had enough and the Draak grew frustrated. War broke out. Slayers were more successful back then, of course. Draak were still young. Their dragon forms were small and they were much easier to kill. Much less intelligent and more animal than man.”