A Lair So Primal (The Last Dragorai Book 3)

by Zoey Ellis

  Marahl nodded slowly. “Of course, my lord.”

  “She asked me yesterday whether you have any kon’ayas.” She looked at him expectantly. “What do you wish me to say?”

  “Tell her,” Zendyor said, gesturing a flick with his hand. “Let her experience the lair, let her attempt to meet people, let her see that she is missing out and question her. All she has to do is tell me what I want to know.”

  “All right,” Marahl said, sighing. “If you’re sure there is no other way you can get the information when she is with you?”

  Zendyor snapped a look at her, and she took a step back realizing she’d spoken out of turn. Zendyor raised a hand and dismissed her.

  He poured a drink, annoyed at Marahl’s question and displeased with himself. Fucking Elora had become an addiction; he was not going to deny it. Her beauty was one thing, but from the moment he scented her, he knew she was something he needed. The pleasure he got from seeing her on his cock, from tasting her and scenting her, was almost as sublime as the physical act—she was the most delicious female he’d ever had in his bed. Their mating was so base and carnal, it had awakened something within him he couldn’t pinpoint—something raw and powerful that tapped into his dragorai nature. It was unusual. He had never experienced anything like it before, and yet it was a criminal—someone who’d fooled him—who’d awakened that side of him. He slammed his glass down, annoyed. As soon as she told him what he needed to know, he would get rid of her, but he would certainly miss his nights with her, there was no way to deny it.

  A screech from the window alerted him that someone was approaching, and a shard of territorial irritation sliced through him from Yorgynel. Zendyor didn’t respond back, letting him know that he was open to seeing whichever brother had decided to visit him. He was in the mood for a distraction tonight.

  The heavy beating of wings approached the window, and a man sailed through from the back of another dragon—Nel’s brother. His brother Sethorn landed softly in Zendyor’s chambers.

  “You’re out late, brother.”

  Sethorn said nothing, and Zendyor frowned. When he wasn’t in clan mode, Sethorn was usually full of cutting remarks and sarcastic comments.

  He stepped into the room, looking around Zendyor’s chamber, lifting his nose before glancing at him, a smirk on his face. “Fucking after hunting.” He grinned. “I haven’t done that in ages.”

  Zendyor snorted. “It is the best way to fuck.”

  Sethorn nodded in agreement. “Except the blood gets everywhere, and it’s hard to find someone who will indulge in it fully without all the squeamishness.” He shook his head. “Omegas are not what they used to be.”

  Zendyor said nothing. Elora had certainly looked horrified when he had first taken her after hunting, but she’d never once verbalized any disgust or reluctance in seeing him dripping with blood, conversely she’d been highly aroused by it—based on her scent and abundance of slick. But he couldn’t allow the blood to linger on her for too long. The first night he’d been too concerned with fucking her for as long as possible to be bothered to wash it off before the end of the night, but after that first time he’d begun bathing her earlier and earlier during their encounters. There was something about seeing blood on her that began to displease him. It suggested she might be wounded, and that enraged him—both the idea that she could be wounded and the fact that he even cared in the first place.

  “I thought you weren’t really making use of your kon’ayas?” Sethorn said.

  “I lacked interest in them for a while,” Zendyor said casually. “But something piqued my interest.”

  Sethorn chuckled. “Naturally. Although I am finding the lack of women to engage me highly frustrating.”

  At that Zendyor did laugh. “You have a lair full of kon’ayas, Sethorn. Almost as many as Nyro. You cannot possibly be bored of them.”

  Sethorn shrugged. “They adore me,” he said irritably. “There’s no thrill of the chase with a woman who can be easily bent.”

  “But you are the one who makes them like that,” Zendyor pointed out. “That’s what you like isn’t it?”

  “I used to. Now I like the challenge of turning them into mindless cock-lovers ready and willing to do my bidding when I please,” Sethorn said. “There is nothing thrilling about a woman who actually is one anymore.”

  Zendyor shook his head, still laughing. “Then you should find a new hobby or a way of bending them that doesn’t have that result.”

  “It is up to them to resist—no matter how hard I try.” Sethorn was annoyed.

  Zendyor nodded. Sethorn had the charm to make all kinds of women flock at his feet, but he didn’t respect the ones who did. It was almost impossible for him to find any woman strong enough to resist his manipulating charm. It seemed he was destined to remain alone. But that had been said about all of them for centuries.

  With his brother Nyro newly mated, everyone had new hope, and not just their staff. Zendyor had noticed his brothers were more positive about the future, about contending with the king and queen, and much more willing to embrace their true nature. That was how it should be, but it was not a surprise for them to feel more secure now that there was a chance they could find mates and even potentially have children.

  Growing up, Zendyor had never considered that having children would become an impossibility for him, so the extinction of the female dragorai incensed him constantly. It had been the source of all of his rage against the lesser-mortals. They deserved to die in the most painful and horrific way for robbing him and his dan askha of the chance to have young, and of robbing everyone of the beauty of female dragons. He wouldn’t actively go out and kill them—he had some respect for a small number of them—but anyone who dared to insult him in any way was torn to shreds immediately and without mercy. That was the way it should be and that was the way it was.

  Until Elora.

  “So what are you doing here, brother,” he said to Sethorn. “I didn’t think you enjoyed early morning hunts.”

  “We need to talk about Khyros.”

  Zendyor stilled. He turned to Sethorn. “What about him?”

  “We need to do something,” Sethorn said, raising his brows.

  Zendyor pursed lips as he poured more of the potent liquor, zmul, into his glass and prepared a glass for Sethorn. “What exactly are you suggesting,” he said cautiously, handing over the glass. “And speak carefully, brother.”

  It was considered highly treasonous to speak against the head of the clan, unless there was significant cause.

  “We need to share the responsibility for his lack of mobility,” Sethorn said.

  Zendyor exhaled quietly. He thought the conversation was going in a different direction. “That’s not a problem,” he said. “You do not have to be the one to always take him anywhere he needs to go.”

  “I’m talking about what happened with the king,” Sethorn said.

  Zendyor frowned. Recently, they’d all flown to the North Cities and took the chance to deal a blow to the king, who had managed to escape, but not without damaging and injuring all of the brothers’ dragons in the process. They had underestimated how powerful he was. During the whole incident, Khyros had traveled with Sethorn on his dragon, Ornendor.

  “When we are in battle, there cannot be two alphas for my dan askha,” Sethorn said, his expression deathly serious. “If Khyros and I travel together too often, it will confuse Ornendor and I do not want him to begin to think he has two masters, or become confused that Khyros is somehow part of our bond.”

  Zendyor nodded. “I understand. Of course not. We will share it equally.”

  “I am nearer his range, so I go to check on him more often, especially since he cannot communicate through our dragons,” Sethorn said. “But you must visit him more. Both you and Tyomar should.”

  “And what about Nyro?” Zendyor snapped. “Does he not have this responsibility too?”

  Sethorn held up a hand and chuckled. “I know yo
u have difficulty with Nyro—”

  “Difficulty?” Zendyor thundered. “I do not have difficulties with him. He didn’t abide by clan rules for decades. And while I am grateful that his mate has had an impact on him, what about all the responsibilities he refused to shoulder for the last few centuries!”

  Sethorn lowered his hand. “Calm down,” he said. “I know that you feel Nyro always succeeds in getting out of things, but he does have a mate now. That cannot be denied. We have to protect that and keep that in mind whenever we are arranging things among us. Their relationship holds the future of our kind.”

  “I don’t debate that,” Zendyor said. “But he can go and visit Khyros just as often as we do. It makes no difference. He can go with his mate.”

  Sethorn nodded. “True. I will make sure I talk to him as well.”

  “So that’s why you’ve come to see me in the middle of the morning?” Zendyor said. “You are still behaving as if Khyros has a dragon that could alert him of your movements.”

  Sethorn chuckled and took a mouthful of his drink. “I cannot imagine what he’s feeling,” he murmured. “To not have one’s dan askha is to not live.”

  Zendyor nodded in agreement. It was a terrible fate for one’s dragon to go missing. Khyros’ lack of mobility to travel his own range and to meet his brothers was only a small part of it. He could no longer communicate with the rest of them as easily, and Zendyor had no idea how he was dealing with his hunting urges. It had to be torturous for him, even though Khyros kept that anguish to himself.

  Usually if one’s dan askha died, the alpha would not be far behind, but since Khyros had not died, the brothers believed that there was a good chance his dragon was alive and that he would be found. And if anyone had interfered with that, they would be killed in retribution for his brother’s suffering.

  “I will see you in the morning?” Sethorn asked.

  Zendyor nodded. “Yes, we have much to discuss.”

  The next morning, Zendyor paced while he waited for Marahl. She usually bought Elora her first meal of the day, and he liked knowing what happened, if anything. Of course, Marahl was baffled as to why he wanted to know what she said and did, and what her plans were for the day, but he didn’t particularly care about Marahl’s confusion. He just wanted to know. Eventually Elora would have to confess, either to Marahl or to him. But he got the feeling that if she was going to say anything it wouldn’t be to him. When they were together, they had other, more pressing concerns. Marahl was the only one whom she talked to regularly. There must have been hints and clues in the things she said, the things that were important to her.

  A knock pulled him out of his thoughts.

  “Come in,” he barked.

  “I apologize, my lord,” Marahl said as she hurried in. “Elora wanted to be taken to where we make the fabrics.”

  Zendyor slowed. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” Marahl said. “She said that our tunics are dull. I’m not sure what she means.”

  Zendyor scowled, annoyed that she’d criticized anything about his lair. Normally he wouldn’t care what any servant thought, but her preference of Nyro’s lair burned him to the core.

  It also enraged him that she had been so close to potentially fucking his brother. The only reason he believed she hadn’t was because she’d been a virgin when he first took her. It was lucky for her and for Nyro that had been the case. Although he couldn’t deny that Nyro had recruited her, it was Zendyor she’d always belonged to. And it was only pure luck that Nyro had found his own mate and had not touched Elora. The idea of them together inflamed his veins, setting alight the burning behind his eyes and the spark of heat in his chest.

  “My lord.” Marahl was looking at him nervously.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “She plans to spend the day reading and exploring the lair again,” Marahl said. “She is still getting used to it.”

  “Good,” Zendyor said. “I expect a briefing when I get back.”

  Marahl’s smile faltered. “On what, my lord?”

  “Elora.” Zendyor almost bellowed at her. “What else do you think?”

  “I very much doubt there will be anything to report,” Marahl said tentatively. “There’s not much for her to do.”

  “Except, she might say or do something that might give us a clue about how she was able to infiltrate my territory,” Zendyor said, forcing himself not to roar at her stupidity. “Would you like me to miss that opportunity?”

  “No, my lord,” Marahl breathed. “Of course not. I am aware that there are things you will pick up on that I won’t, so I think it is for the best.”

  “Dismissed.”

  As she left, Zendyor strode to the room-length window and bellowed out of it in Thrakondarian.

  Within moments, the thunderous beating of wings approached and Zendyor ran and jumped out of the window, casting an incantation to draw magic around him and carry him over to his dragon. As soon as he landed and crouched down, Nel took off, soaring through the sky, the breeze billowing Zendyor’s cloak, and rushing against his face. The thrill spread over his body. There was nothing better than being on the back of his dan askha… except maybe being inside Elora.

  He tried to put her to the back of his mind. Clan meetings were important, and he needed to focus. Besides which, Nyro was going to be at this meeting, and he had to be careful about losing his temper with Nyro for no logical reason. He didn’t particularly care about being unreasonable—why should he? He was practically a god, as were his brothers. There was nothing they could ever do that was unreasonable to lesser-mortals, but to each other? Yes, there was. And Zendyor’s centuries-long frustrations with Nyro and his casual attitude to rules sometimes exploded at the wrong times. He had to control it.

  Nel headed into Khyros’ mountain range. The Vattoro temple was situated on the edge of Khyros’ mountain with its own entrance near the top. Nel circled the entrance, and Zendyor jumped off his back, muttering another incantation to take him over to the entrance ledge. Straightening, he headed inside to see Tyomar and Sethorn.

  “Greetings, brother,” Tyomar said. He was the calmest of them all and the most supportive brother of Zendyor’s frequent rage. “I was just speaking to Sethorn about visiting Khyros more.”

  “I think it’s a good proposal. The responsibility should not fall just to him,” Zendyor said as he sat down.

  “Agreed.”

  “Brothers!” Nyro greeted, walking into the temple with his mate I’mya.

  Zendyor was somewhat relieved that I’mya was there. She helped to focus Nyro and ensure that he put things into perspective. Besides which, she had lived in the North Cities and had information that could help them defeat the king.

  After greetings were made and Nyro and I’mya sat down, Khyros appeared almost immediately.

  As the oldest, Khyros was the head of the clan. Zendyor considered him a strong leader with only one weakness, and that was his missing dragon. In every other way, he superseded the rest of them—he was fair, just, and made the right decisions for the longevity of the clan. But it hadn’t escaped Zendyor’s notice that Sethorn had similar qualities. He was organized, and had planning, reading, and strategizing skills, and he, at least, had his dragon.

  Last night he had thought that Sethorn was going to mention usurping Khyros, which Zendyor wouldn’t have agreed with, but he would have understood it. With the five of them left, and only four of them with dragons, true discord between the brothers was not something that would benefit anyone, regardless of how much they may brawl over their territories. When it came to the important things, nothing would break their brotherhood, but who led the clan could certainly be a dividing issue.

  “The king escaped,” Sethorn said when the meeting began. “Any ideas?”

  “We need a better idea of the layout of the North Cities,” Tyomar said. “The maps we have are too old, and we need to know which cities are still standing, which could not possibly house him
and his army, and where his most durable strongholds are.”

  Sethorn nodded. “We have to do it immediately before he is able to change anything.”

  “And how do you propose we map the area out?” Nyro said. “Especially with him being able to see us in the sky.”

  “We have to go at night,” Zendyor pointed out.

  “And I can help too,” I’mya said. “I didn’t travel across the entire North Cities, but I heard about them. And I can tell you about the city that I knew the most.”

  Sethorn shook his head. “It is unlikely that he will return there after we attacked him, but any information you can give about any of the other cities would be helpful.”

  “What about the queen?” Zendyor asked. “She’s just as bad as the king. We should try to attack both of them.”

  “We do not have the manpower for that,” Nyro said.

  Zendyor’s anger surged at his dismissive attitude. “We can still plan two attacks that happen close together.”

  Nyro nodded thoughtfully. “Split our focus.”

  “And use magic to aid us,” Tyomar said.

  “But we must begin by mapping the North Cities so we know the current terrain, and then the Southern Provinces.” Sethorn asked. “Is that agreed?”

  All the brothers nodded.

  “Good,” Sethorn said. “Zendyor you will take the first shift.”

  Zendyor started, straightening as he frowned. “Why me?”

  Sethorn frowned and the rest of the table looked at him.

  “What do you mean why?” Tyomar asked, puzzled. “Why not?”

  Zendyor didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was reluctant, he was just enjoying his routine right now—and that happened to include a sexy little omega. “I would prefer to take the second shift.”

  “No, we need you to go first,” Sethorn said. “You have the best eye for seeing detail among landscapes. You are the best one to start us off.”

  Zendyor exhaled heavily but couldn’t disagree. His hunting skills were relevant to their success. “I’ll go. When do we start?”