by Zoey Ellis
“Immediately.” Sethorn leaned forward. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you to be careful, Zen. This is a stealth mission only; you do not attack anyone, you do not speak to anyone, you do not allow anyone to see you. The skies should be grey and obscure enough that no one will even think to look up to see you, but you never know. It will take awhile the map the whole of the North Cities and then we need to do the same for the South. Be careful.”
Zendyor nodded. “Understood.”
At the end of the meeting, Zendyor readied to leave, eager to return to his lair, and he saw I’mya watching him. He held her gaze for a moment, curious about what she wanted, before realizing that she was probably wondering about her friend. Nyro had obviously told her not to ask him because Elora was no longer any of her concern.
None of the brothers were permitted to interfere with the running or each other’s lair. It was unacceptable.
Zendyor wondered if he should ask her anything about Elora, but the longer they stood observing each other, he decided against it. Elora and I’mya only met at Nyro’s lair, according to either of their accounts. If Elora was in some way dishonest or disingenuous, especially before she arrived, I’mya wouldn’t know. And considering I’mya was part of his clan now, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
He nodded in greeting at her and then headed toward the exit.
“Anything to report?” Zendyor said to Marahl, as he unbuttoned the top of his tunic.
“She spent the day in different parts of the lair,” Marahl said, “watching the servants get on with their duties.”
“She didn’t try to speak to the servants?”
“Yes, she still attempts to talk to them... but something did concern me.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure if it’s important,” Marahl said. “But something strange happened when one of the servants stopped for a break and went to pray. Elora followed them to the temple, but didn’t go in.”
“Maybe she chose not to pray at that time,” Zendyor said.
“But she hasn’t chosen to pray at all yet,” Marahl said. “She never asked about a temple when she arrived, and I don’t recall her ever mentioning praying in her room.”
Zendyor frowned at her. “What is your concern?”
“I’m not sure,” Marahl said, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I asked her whether she would like to pray, and she said no. I asked her when she would like to go, and she said that she didn’t need to. Then I asked her if she used to pray when she was growing up in the North Cities. She told me that she and her faction used to pray—they used to have dedicated times throughout the day if there wasn’t anything else more pressing happening, but there was something odd about the way she said it.”
Zendyor turned to the window in thought, unease twisting in his chest. “Are you saying you think she is against the Seven?” He wasn’t aware of anyone who actively disliked the Seven Goddesses, even though many criticized them for their lack of intervention to save the dragorai. But it was extremely unlikely for anyone who truly disliked the Goddesses to be willing to serve the dragorai, who upheld the worship of them.
“I’m not sure, it just struck me as odd,” Marahl said.
Zendyor nodded. It was odd. “Send her to me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What else?”
“Nothing else, my lord,” Marahl said. “Boe likes her and is enjoying keeping her well fed as you instructed. She also enjoys visiting him.”
“Good.” He turned from the window. “Starting tonight I will be traveling regularly into the North on clan business. My schedule will be erratic.”
Marahl dipped her head in a nod. “The stewards and I will make sure everything is prepared to meet your needs, my lord.”
Zendyor nodded. “Dismissed.”
He turned back toward the window in contemplation. There could be many reasons why someone didn’t wish to pray but some of those reasons could be dangerous for him, his dragon, and his clan, considering they were the last of their kind. He did not particularly want anyone who disliked his creators to be in his lair, especially when she had already displayed questionable and disobedient behavior, and wouldn’t give him the answers he needed. And yet, if this was the case, it made her even more interesting indeed. Why would someone seek a home in a dragorai lair if they disliked the Seven Goddesses? And what reason would she have to dislike them? It would make more sense if she was against the dragorai, and yet Nyro had said she acclimated well into his lair.
The growing mysteries surrounding Elora intrigued him, and although she couldn’t actively harm him or his clan, he couldn’t ignore any signs—if that was her intent.
The sound of the door opening made him turn. Elora came through it, her head down as she smoothed her tunic and raked her fingers through her hair, heading directly toward the window where he stood. When she glanced up and saw him, she froze, surprise on her face. “You’re here.”
Zendyor said nothing, taking a moment to absorb the sight of her. She truly was a stunning-looking woman. Her thick, golden-colored hair fell past her shoulders, and cool, flint-grey eyes flicked over him, assessing his stance and demeanor. Usually in this room, he viewed her through the chaotic haze that embraced him during and immediately after a hunt. During those times his observation of her was instinctual and animalistic, his body simply reacting to the simulation of everything she was, but now he could take a moment to appreciate more than her pleasing looks and beckoning scent.
Of course, as an omega, she had a compact little body, but beyond that there was something about the way she moved—a little meek, with nervous little actions—that made him want to pin her under him and keep her there.
“Come to me,” he ordered.
She stepped toward him cautiously, keeping her eyes on him until she stopped a couple of feet away. Fear and caution dominated her gaze, as it usually did. But after hunting, that expression sparked an impulse in him to take her—to secure her underneath him where she was safe, to claim her so she didn’t have to suffer the worry or fear that she belonged to no one. Looking at her now, he wondered if she innately understood his behavior in that state or if she was simply afraid of him because he had hurt her.
Regardless, the sight of her fear left a bad taste in his mouth, and suddenly he didn’t feel like discussing her potential aversion to the Goddesses, especially not before he traveled. It could wait.
“To your knees,” he said as he unbuckled himself.
Of course he was already rock hard the moment she walked into the room—that was inevitable. As she lowered to the ground, he pushed his pants down, his cock sprung free, thick and rigid as it bounced up, the tip already dripping.
Elora’s pretty eyes widened as she watched it, glancing up at him in wonder. He looked back at her, dropping his hands to his side, wondering if she would follow her instincts or wait to be told.
Elora’s eyes dropped back to his cock. For a long moment, she examined it, curiosity seeping into her eyes, before she reached out and grasped his length with her soft hand. She gently tugged it toward her and then back, and again, her eyes on the tip. Zendyor watched her, exhaling heavily as his pleasure began to build, and it wasn’t just her manipulations that were arousing, it was the way she looked at his cock, as if she was enraptured by it and starving for it.
She inched forward on her knees until her face was a few inches from him, her hand building a rhythm along its length. And then she leaned over and licked the tip, her tongue brushing again him and sending a burst of pleasure up Zendyor’s spine. He groaned, and at the same time she hummed with delight. Her hand worked him as her mouth enclosed around him, sucking, licking, swirling her tongue around.
She became bolder and more confident as she worked him faster, licking the length of him and even pressing her nose on the underside of his cock. The growing delight and pleasure on her face kept him on the brink of orgasm—there was no more beautifu
l sight than such a woman like her taking pleasure in the taste and smell and feel of him.
When he was about to climax, Zendyor gripped her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him as he covered her hand with his, guiding her speed as the turbulent rush of carnal bliss hurtled into him, and he spilled over her face and her neck.
Elora blinked, bewilderment on her face. She darted her tongue out to capture a drop of his seed as it trickled down the corner of her mouth. Then, using a finger, she wiped his seed from her face and looked at it, sniffing and touching it with the tip of her tongue. It was a deeply satisfying sight.
The urge to spill his seed over a woman didn’t come over him often, but now that he wasn’t able to see her on a regular basis, it seemed necessary. He pulled her up by her arm until she stood, and then lifted her tunic to her waist.
Her rich, addictive, sweet scent drifted from between her legs, indicating her significant arousal—just as he suspected. Elora turned her head away, averting her eyes, but her bashfulness only served to highlight her need. A guttural groan tumbled from his throat as his fingers slid into her panties, easing into her soft, drenched folds.
If he had time, he would spend the next few hours between her legs, saturating his face and neck with her slick and ensuring that her scent remained strong on him when he left for the North, but there wasn’t time for everything. Right now he wanted to fuck her until she was drowsy and sated, and full to the brim with his seed. He couldn’t explain the instinct, it was just what was necessary. Elora’s breath huffed out in halting spurts as he built a rhythm stroking her clit, swaying as she tried to stay upright.
Zendyor withdrew his soaked fingers and sucked on them, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.
6
“You slept late today,” Marahl said, setting Elora’s breakfast down on the table. “Are you well?”
Elora smiled up at her, hoping Marahl couldn’t somehow see the disarray within her. “I’m just a little tired,” she said, “that’s all.”
But that was a severe understatement.
Zendyor had been particularly gluttonous last night, his needs unquenchable and ravenous. Her time with him didn’t last as long as it usually did, yet she was more exhausted than ever.
Each evening with him was becoming wilder and desperately erotic. He dominated and took control completely when taking her and seemed to anticipate her every need before she even knew what she needed; she could only assume it was because he was familiar with bedding omegas. Still, his ferocious attitude shocked her each time, especially last night. It was as though he was desperate to have his mouth on her, to squeeze her thighs, and use his tongue to send shivers of anticipation prickling along her skin. He spread her wide, bent her over, and folded her in half, pounding her with such force it wrung brutally breathtaking climaxes through her that made her delirious.
But what unsettled her the most was how he had somehow enticed her to take him with her mouth, without saying a word. While it might be part of her debt to please him, it embarrassed her how much she enjoyed it. The experience had been gloriously addicting, having that kind of power over him, hearing every groan and heavy exhale from his chest, drowning in his scent and sucking the fluid oozing from his tip. It wasn’t her—she didn’t recognize herself in the blinding need she had when she was with him. He was turning her into someone else, and it worried her.
Previously, she’d never been happy with the idea of losing her virginity in exchange for shelter and safety in the North Cities. Omegas were treated horribly in those situations and the likelihood of life-threatening pregnancy was high. But in a dragorai lair, the act was different. Exchanging her body for a lifetime of comfort and security away from the war was logical and coveted by many. She’d been happy to do that to survive and still feel content with her situation, making the best of every moment. But now this wickedly sinful omega she was turning into was craving things, enjoying the act of sex, wanting more, being thrilled and satisfied and fulfilled by it. And most disturbingly, reveling in the man who provided it for her.
This was no longer about exchanging herself for a contented and safe life, but enjoying something that wasn’t hers to enjoy and would never be guaranteed. She didn’t know how she was to pull herself back to the woman she’d been when she arrived here. And that scared her.
“Thanks for collecting this for me,” she said to Marahl, gesturing to the plate of fresh bread, speckled eggs, and salted fish before her.
“Boe was worried.” Marahl set down a pot of lemon tea. “He wanted to make sure you got your plate.”
Elora laughed. “I’ll visit him for a late lunch and beg forgiveness for worrying him.”
Marahl actually smiled as she took up the tray. “What is your plan for today?”
Elora shrugged. “Nothing different than any other day.”
“All right. Then I will see you later.”
Elora nodded as she left, fighting the desolation threatening to engulf her. She was losing count of how many days it’d been since she arrived, and nothing much had changed.
She still had nothing to do during the day but watch the servants complete their tasks, and they still didn’t speak to her, mostly ignoring her if she was in the same room. It was frustrating and boring to be in the lair. She tried to remember it was better to be bored than back on the streets of the North Cities, but drifting around the lair each day made her feel alone and like an outsider. This lair was more serious and upheld different values than Master Nyro’s lair. She couldn’t understand how anyone could thrive here without the support of others. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Even when she was out in the realm, she’d had her faction who cared and protected each other.
Watching the staff carrying out their duties did, however, allow her to see how much they cared about their work. They all worked really hard, paying attention to detail and doing all they could to make sure every task was completed to the best of their abilities.
On impulse, she headed back to the candle-making room and peered in.
The same young woman was in there—the one who’d run from her in the corridor—carefully pouring wax into a number of candle molds.
Elora waited until she had put the pitcher down and then stepped in. “Hello, again,” she said gently.
The woman lifted her head, her eyes widening as she saw Elora.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Elora said. “I was just exploring the lair.”
The girl’s brows knitted, but she said nothing.
Instead, she went to the other side of the room where a cauldron was hung, warming over a fire, and she began to ladle more wax into the pitcher. Elora watched her for a moment and when she moved back over to the table, Elora went over to the cauldron and picked up a pitcher from one of the shelves. She carefully ladled wax into it and then went back over to the table.
On a shelf behind the table, various-sized empty candle molds were lined up. She selected the same selection in size and number that the woman had in front of her and set them down on the table. She lifted the coated wicks that were hanging on an overhead rack and settled them inside the molds, then carefully poured the wax into the molds.
When she was finished, the young woman was staring at her puzzled, but again she said nothing.
Elora smiled as she shrugged. “I’m just helping you. I don’t have anything else to do.”
The girl hesitated and for a moment Elora thought she would say something, but she didn’t. She simply headed back over to the cauldron and filled her pitcher with wax again.
They worked like this for a little while, filling the candle molds with wax until all of them were filled. When they were finished, the woman stood staring at all the molds that were cooling on the bench by the window.
“That took a lot less time than it usually takes,” she said softly.
Elora started, surprised that the girl had finally spoken. “I hope you don’t mind I helped you,” she said. “It seem
s like a big job for one person to do.”
The woman shrugged. “I don’t mind doing it. It’s part of my duties.”
“What’s next?” Elora asked.
“Umm…” The woman looked at her, her brows wrinkled. “Well, I’m ahead of schedule now. There’s no more wax until tomorrow, so I suppose I can start cleaning up.”
Elora put out the fire while the girl washed the cauldron and set it down to dry. Then they both gathered back at the table.
“What happens now?” Elora asked.
“Usually it takes me all day,” the woman said. “And by then most of the molds are cool and I can store them.”
Elora nodded, unable to stop smiling. Relief spread through her that someone was finally speaking to her. “What would you normally do now?”
“I’m early now,” the girl explained, glancing at the window.
“Do you mind if we talk?” Elora asked tentatively.
The woman looked at the molds. “You helped me out, so I can talk to you at least,” she said, smiling nervously.
“Thank you,” Elora said, excitement lifting her mood. “It’s been a little bit unnerving to be completely ignored.”
“It’s not intentional,” the woman said sighing. “Everyone is just… focused on their work.”
“But why?” Elora asked. “Why are they so obsessed with their work that they would be rude?”
“Because of our lord,” the woman said, her voice quiet. “If the lair is not maintained, it will anger him, and when he is angry… that’s not good for us.”
Elora’s brows raised, though she shouldn’t be surprised by her admission. Zendyor had a vicious temper. He’d shredded her arm simply because she didn’t answer a question. Why hadn’t she seen it before? “You work so hard because you’re scared of him?”
“No… not exactly.” She struggled to find the words. “We’re not exactly scared of him. We’re glad to be here. He is the reason we are safe and able to be fed, and to be part of the culture and history of the Vattoro dragorai clan. But, he has specific needs and to honor him, the lair must be kept to a certain standard. It requires all of our time and attention, we cannot be distracted. If he is angry, it affects us all. And if we cannot keep up with the work, the stewards may decide we’re not suitable.”
