Dragon's Gift (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy 1)

by Jasmine Walt

  “I’m sure you’re tired, my lady,” he said, bowing his head. “I wouldn’t want to exhaust you right before your first day off.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Dareena said, fisting her hand in the collar of his tunic. Lucyan’s eyes widened in delight as she pulled him back against her, and they came together in a crash of lips and teeth that should have been awkward, and yet somehow wasn’t. The book slipped from Dareena’s hand, and a moment later Lucyan gathered her up in his arms and shoved the door open.

  “If it’s more you want,” he growled against her mouth as he set her down on the bed, “I am more than happy to oblige.”

  Dareena pushed herself up onto her hands as Lucyan kicked off his boots. He crawled across the bed toward her, his eyes glowing with lust, and Dareena’s heartbeat kicked up a notch with every breath that he drew closer. By the time he reached her, she was breathing hard, her core pulsing with need. She bunched her skirts in one hand, ready to pull them up so that Lucyan could do, well, whatever it was that men did when they put a hand up a woman’s skirts. She didn’t know much about lovemaking, but she did know that after two days of unrelieved sexual frustration with Lucyan’s brothers, she was going to explode if one of them didn’t do something about it soon.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Lucyan said in a playful tone, covering his hand with hers before she could pull her skirt up. “That’s for me to unwrap, not the other way around.”

  He covered her body with his own, nudging her skirts up just enough so that he could settle between her legs. His length pressed against her inner thigh as he leaned in to kiss her. She arched her hips, wanting more. But Lucyan only laughed, nudging her legs wider so she couldn’t push up off the mattress. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, filling her with his taste and scent, and Dareena groaned as the fire in her lower belly roared even hotter. She reached for him, but he grabbed her hands and pinned them overhead with one hand, forcing her to lie still beneath him. She wanted to curse him, but she had no breath to speak, and a secret part of her actually liked that he was dominating her.

  Had she gone mad?

  She didn’t know how long the kiss went on for. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. He kissed her long and slow, as if he were doing a thorough but leisurely exploration of her mouth, learning every curve and crevice down to the last detail. He nibbled and licked, sucked and stroked, until Dareena was a trembling mess beneath him, until she couldn’t think of anything else but him.

  “If you think torturing me like this is the way to win me over,” Dareena finally gasped against his mouth, “you might very well find yourself last in the running.”

  Lucyan chuckled. “There’s that fire of yours,” he said, nipping at her lower lip. “No wonder the gods chose you to be the Dragon’s Gift.”

  Dareena was about to tell him exactly what he could do with that statement when he finally slipped a hand beneath her skirt. She gasped as he cupped her between her legs with his big hand, his long fingers sliding against her damp underthings and sending a bolt of pleasure through her.

  “Gods, you’re soaked,” Lucyan breathed, all levity disappearing from his face. His glowing gaze was intense. “I didn’t intend to go this far tonight, but…”

  Dareena squealed as he ripped off her underthings in one quick motion. She opened her mouth to protest, but what came out was a throaty groan as his hand finally made contact with her pussy. His long, slightly roughened fingers delved between her slick folds, and her hips came off the bed when his thumb brushed across a particularly sweet spot.

  “Found it,” Lucyan murmured teasingly. He sank his teeth into her earlobe as he flicked that same spot with his thumb. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes,” Dareena moaned. “Please, please don’t stop.” She grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand against her, grinding the heel of his hand exactly where she wanted it.

  “Fuck,” Lucyan growled, pulling back. For a moment, Dareena thought he was going to remove his hand, but he merely sat up a little, his eyes transfixed on their joined hands. “Yes,” he hissed when she rubbed herself against him. “Show me what you want.”

  Emboldened, Dareena began to rock her hips against his hand, keeping it pressed against her. Pleasure surged through her with each press of her hips against his palm, and the knot of tension between her legs seemed to tighten with each breath. She was getting close, close to something big…

  “That’s it,” Lucyan panted, rubbing his hand faster against her. “Come for me, darling. You’re right there.”

  Dareena arched her hips one more time, and a hidden dam inside her suddenly burst free. She screamed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her, obliterating all other thoughts and sensation. She felt as if she were soaring high above the world and no one could touch her.

  “I could make you soar higher and freer than any bird.”

  The sound of Drystan’s voice echoing in her ears was like a bucket of ice water dumped straight over her head. Eyes wide, she bolted upright and nearly smashed her forehead into Lucyan’s.

  “Dareena?” Lucyan’s brow furrowed with concern as he gripped her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” Dareena panted, pressing a hand against her chest. How could she explain this? “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, turning away. Her cheeks flamed, and suddenly she wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from Lucyan’s too-keen gaze.

  “I very much disagree,” Lucyan said, his voice soft. Gently, he slid his hand beneath Dareena’s jaw and turned her head back to him. “Dareena, please, tell me what happened. Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you in any way?”

  “Hurt me?” Dareena shook her head. “No, Lucyan—you gave me a wonderful experience. And that’s the problem.”

  Lucyan frowned. “I fail to see how bringing you pleasure is a problem,” he said quizzically, sitting back on his heels. “Unless the problem is that now you want more?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Dareena laughed despite herself. “Don’t be silly,” she said, swatting at him. “It’s just…I was thinking about Drystan, and the way he makes me feel.”

  “Ugh.” Lucyan twisted his face into an expression of disgust. “Not exactly what a man wants to hear, but I did ask.”

  Dareena winced. “I wasn’t thinking about him while we were…you know.” She made a pathetic gesture with her hand. “But right there, at the end, I remembered how much I wanted him while we were together.”

  Lucyan raised an eyebrow. “Together?”

  “No, not like that,” Dareena said impatiently. “We came close, but we didn’t get as far as you and I did. But the thing is, I wanted to. More than anything in the world, at the time. And yet when you touched me tonight…I felt the same thing. How is that possible?”

  Lucyan sighed. “While I am probably shooting myself in the foot by admitting it…I don’t think it’s so strange that you would find my brothers just as sexually enticing. After all, we are related,” he added with a wry smile. “I’ve slept with more women than I care to remember, and while I’ve had my share of boring lays, I’ve also had plenty that were spectacular.”

  “Oh?” Dareena lifted an eyebrow. “And which category do I fall in?”

  Lucyan gave her a wicked smile. “Well, I haven’t actually lain with you yet”—he leaned in so that his breath ghosted against her lips as he spoke—“but judging by what I’ve seen so far, I don’t think you’ll be merely spectacular. I have a feeling you’ll be downright magical.”

  Dareena knew he was merely flattering her, and yet she could feel herself swell with pride beneath his praise. “You really know how to make a woman feel special,” she teased.

  “I aim to please.” Lucyan grinned, then pressed a quick kiss against her lips. “As much as I’ve enjoyed your company, I fear that if I don’t take my leave now, I won’t come out until morning. I should go now, unless you wish otherwise…?” His voice trailed off hopefully.

  Dareena was half tempted to let him stay, to
see exactly what else he could do with those talented fingers. He’d made her feel such incredible things, all without taking her clothes off. But the rational part of her knew she needed distance right now to sort through the conflicting experiences.

  “As I thought.” Lucyan inclined his head, correctly interpreting her hesitation. “Good night, my lady. I hope you’ll be thinking of me as you sleep.”

  He left her with a smile and a wink, and she pondered the day’s events as she ate her dinner, then poured over the alphabet cards he’d given her. And while Dareena would think of Lucyan later that night, he would be far from the only dragon prince who waltzed in her dreams.

  19

  Without Dareena to keep him occupied for the day, Drystan decided to do what neither of his brothers ever did: voluntarily spend the day with the king.

  He did it for various reasons—first because he believed he’d follow in his footsteps, and seeing what the king did made sense for an heir. But strange as it was, he also did it because he enjoyed it. There, in his office, as they worked together in silence, the king seemed more peaceful than when he was dealing with courtiers or subjects. Less like the volatile dragon he was becoming, and more like the wise, caring father Drystan had grown up with.

  Unfortunately, Drystan was getting less of the latter and more of the former as they sat in on another council meeting. This one, as so many of the others, revolved around the ongoing war. All of the councilors had a different opinion, but no one spoke clearly. It was obvious to Drystan that most of the advisors were open to negotiating. The war was so uncertain and controversial, and it brought as much misery to their people as it did to the elves. Not only the men who were killed and wounded, but also the countless widows and fatherless children.

  But mentions of the war had a strange effect on the king, forcing the madman to claw to the surface. Drystan could see his personality alter right before his eyes. Why was his father so obsessed with this conflict? He wished Alistair and Lucyan had come with him for this meeting, but Lucyan was off with Dareena, and Alistair had business that apparently couldn’t wait. At least Tariana was there, seated opposite him—her sharp features were schooled into an expression of boredom, but Drystan knew his sister saw everything with those keen eyes and was monitoring every person in the room.

  “Now may be time to explore all our options, Your Highness,” Renflaw, the head of the council, said. He was a thickset, balding man with a bushy white beard, and very well respected at court.

  “What is it you’re suggesting, my good Renflaw?” the king asked, his tone almost conversational. But Drystan noticed the set of his jaw—he could practically smell the fire building in his father’s chest. He held his breath, hoping Renflaw proceeded with caution.

  But Renflaw merely set his broad shoulders, ignoring the signs. “It is time to negotiate a peace treaty, my king,” he said firmly. “The other councilors and I have discussed it, and—”

  “Discussed it?” the king hissed. “You conspire behind my back?”

  His lethal gaze swept the room, and the other councilors shrank back. “We are well within our rights to speak to each other outside of this council room, Your Highness,” Renflaw continued doggedly. “Our resources are fast depleting, especially now that no one will trade with us. There are whispers suggesting our enemies are open to negotiating such a treaty.”

  “He’s right, Your Highness,” Shadley, the royal spymaster, chimed in as he leaned forward. His thick auburn mustache twitched as he spoke. “I do believe the High King would be amenable to ending this conflict peacefully—”

  “So, they are willing to admit defeat?” the king demanded. “Willing to kiss my boot and beg for their miserable lives for murdering my mate?”

  Silence descended upon the room. “I don’t believe that’s quite what they said—” Renflaw began.

  “And how is it, exactly,” the king said silkily, “that you know what the High King of Elvenhame has been saying? Could it be that you’ve been consorting with the enemy, Renflaw? Or worse, have you and my spymaster been conspiring against me?”

  Renflaw and Shadley turned pale. “My king, we meant no offense—” Shadley began.

  “And yet you withhold information like this from me and bring it to the council instead!” the king thundered, banging his fist against the table. The air around him heated by twenty degrees as his eyes blazed red, and the other councilors instinctively leaned away. “You are my spymaster, not the other way around! How dare you go behind my back and try to manipulate my council!”

  “I’m sorry, my king.” Shadley threw himself to the ground near the king’s feet. “Please, forgive me.”

  “I am not in a forgiving mood,” the king snarled, throwing back his chair as he got to his feet. Power rolled off him in waves, and Drystan’s blood went cold as he jumped to his feet. Was his father going to kill the man right here?

  “Darius Shadley, you are hereby charged with conspiring against the crown,” the king spat. “You will be held in the dungeons to await trial, and if found guilty, you will be executed for your crimes. Take him away.” He gestured to the guards.

  “Father!” Tariana rose from her seat, alarm written all over her face. “This is—”

  “Do not presume to question me in front of my council,” the king spat, turning the might of his fury on Tariana. Drystan’s eldest sister stiffened, but she lowered her gaze submissively. Even she, their father’s favored, would not dare openly defy him.

  “My king! Please!” Shadley cried as the guards grabbed hold of him. He struggled the entire time as they dragged him out of the room before the eyes of the astonished council. “I am a loyal servant! You cannot do this to me!”

  The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing in the otherwise dead-silent room. Drystan and Tariana exchanged stricken looks—both of them knew damn well that Shadley was not a traitor. He had been serving the king long before Drystan was born, and Tariana and the spymaster were old friends. But there was nothing they could do, at least not right now. Slowly, the siblings returned to their seats as the king began to prowl, stone-faced, around the table, eyeing each of the councilmen as if they were juicy prey.

  “I know there are some amongst you who would sue for peace at any cost,” the king said softly. “I know there are some amongst you who would even go so far as to betray me. But if any of you go behind my back ever again, I will see you hang. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, my king,” the others murmured, sufficiently cowed.

  “Good.” Satisfied, the king resumed his seat. “Now, where were we?”

  Drystan stared at his father. How could he expect that anyone would continue to speak their mind? It was clear that they needed to end the madness that was tearing their land apart, but that madness seemed to have taken root in the king’s heart. The only way to be rid of it was to flush it out of him, but Drystan couldn’t see how to do that. There was no reasoning with him—anything he or the others might say would be considered treason, and they’d be jailed just as Shadley was.

  Poor man. Drystan would have to seek out his siblings after this and see if anything could be done for him.

  “Your Highness,” Langren, another councilmember, said, “this war must come to an end, I’m sure we all agree. But that doesn’t necessarily mean we should consider coming to an agreement with Elvenhame. What of contacting Shadowhaven and formally requesting their assistance? With the warlocks at our sides, we’d crush the elves effortlessly.”

  Drystan clenched his jaw at the repulsive suggestion. Warlocks were mercenary bastards who dabbled in black magic. He wanted nothing to do with them, but he feared that teaming up with such filth was exactly the kind of thing his father would like.

  But to his surprise, the king bared his teeth at the man. “The warlocks have no cause but their own,” he snapped. “They’re not to be trusted. We will fight as we have always done—using our own might and resources, which are more than enough to crush this elven blig
ht that plagues our world. I don’t care how many lives we have to sacrifice—we must win this war.”

  With that, the king strode from the room. The councilors exchanged uneasy glances, and Drystan was tempted to stay and see what they said. But he knew the men would never talk candidly while he was in the room, so he hurriedly followed his father before the doors slammed shut.

  “Fools,” his father muttered as Drystan caught up to him. “My council has been reduced to nothing but a bunch of sniveling cowards. I should replace them all!”

  Drystan said nothing. He was still wrestling with his own feelings about what had transpired. He’d known all along what was brewing in his father’s heart, but to hear him say aloud that he was willing to throw his men’s lives away…it was unthinkable. What had happened to the man who had bounced him on his knee and told him stories of the dragons of old when he was a babe? Who had consoled him when he’d accidentally torched the pork roast at dinner when his power had first manifested, and taught him to control his flame?

  There must be some way to reason with him, he thought desperately. His father wasn’t gone, not completely. The caring man was still buried inside somewhere. He had to be.

  “Where do you all stand with your Dragon’s Gift, my boy?” the king asked abruptly.

  Drystan cleared his throat, banishing his anxious train of thought. “It’s only been a few days,” he said, infusing his voice with confidence, “but I have reason to believe that she favors me.”

  His father nodded in approval. “And how do you plan to secure her affection? Come, entertain me. I need it after this poor excuse for a council meeting. I can’t believe they summoned me for such nonsense.”

  Because talks of peace are apparently nonsense now, Drystan refrained from saying.

  “By being the best,” Drystan said simply. “We are taking turns courting the lady, Father, and so far, she is responding very well to my attentions.”