Fire Bride: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy (Drakoryan Brides Book 2)

by Ava Sinclair

  Slowly more women step forward, some brave, some despite their fear. They embrace one another. They know what must be done. Pride stirs my heart as resolve fills their eyes.

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  “We are ready,” they say.

  Over the coming days, it becomes a race against time. The dragons leave before dawn, each with a Fire Bride representing the village they will visit. They work more quickly this time, and blessedly without the problems we encountered in my village. Before sunset, they are returning with cages filled with weary villagers. At the base of every castle, the sound of building can be heard as construction begins on new villages.

  My mother and I are inseparable. Beti is jealous, I think, and I could dismiss her, but I don’t. My lords have given me permission to have my mother in the castle, and I could not be happier. It is a wonderful feeling, to avail myself of a hug when I need it. I may live in a caste. I may be the lady to four fierce, powerful lords, but I will never outgrow my need for my mother’s love.

  I think of what the witches say, about how I will be a wonderful mother. Could they know that my reunion with my own would warm me to the idea? Now, when I hold Fyrn’s baby shortly before she departs for home, I can see myself with a little one. I can see myself cuddling and cooing to a chubby-cheeked infant who fixes me with its father’s eyes and a lopsided smile. A precocious boy like Drorgros. Or a stalwart one like Tythos. A wild one like Zelki. Or a scholar like Imryth.

  Imryth. He is recovering nicely, although he bears a scar on his shoulder. He tells me it is sensitive.

  “How sensitive?” I ask one night, running my tongue down the raised silver streak that marks his injury. He shudders.

  “I’m sensitive in other places, too,” he says shyly, and my heart flutters, for he is such a gentleman. Bold Zelki would just shove my head down, but not Imryth. He fixes me with a loving gaze as my tongue dances over his hard, hairless chest, trails down to dip into his navel, and lower still as I move the cover away from his cock.

  I grasp the shaft and slide my mouth over the head, feeling the ridge on the lower half where his cock sometimes splits in two to drive me mad with dual pleasure. I lathe him with my tongue, take him deep in my throat. His huge hands fist into the cover. His slim hips rise to meet my mouth.

  I love him so. He tells me I am his greatest pleasure, his muse, his reason for being, that his love for me saved his life. But I barely hear him. Imryth has so many words, but all I want now is the language of his body, the sweet surrender of his climax. I am ready to receive him into my mouth, to swallow his essence, but he denies me.

  He pulls me roughly up and rolls me over as his mouth meets mine. He looms over me, his long hair falling like a curtain on either side of my face.

  “My lady.” He pushes himself into me.

  “My lord.” I wind my legs around him, pulling him close. We move together, our bodies dancing in the candles glow. Words are not needed now. Our eyes lock, and I watch his flash gold a second before his tribute flows into me.

  I will repeat this night after night, and I believe that whatever we face, the bond I share with my lords will give us the strength to weather what lies ahead. We are growing together, individually and as one. I am so proud of my mates, especially Zelki, whose bravery has finally won him the respect of his brothers. He will lead a regiment now, thanks to his fast thinking in the pass.

  I hope other houses will find their own contentment. I was able to thank Lord Jayx and his brothers for the role they played in helping evacuate my village. And while I immediately missed Isla when she left, I believe her journey as the first Drakoryan War Bride will heal the wounds left by what the ShadowFell took from her.

  In the morning, I rise early and look out the window of Imryth’s bedchamber. New villages dot the landscape. The people I love and grew up with are beginning new lives in a new land. My aunt and the priestesses find new ways to minister to and serve a displaced population. And my mother is here, safe with me.

  I have all that matters, and will do my part to protect what is mine, even as war looms on the horizon.

  Excerpt from WAR BRIDE

  Thank you for purchasing Fire Bride. The sequel to this book, War Bride, will be released on April 20, 2018, and is available for pre-order HERE.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ISLA

  When I was a little girl, a man of our village lost his lower leg to a Night Bear. His misfortune became our fascination, and we children would gather around him to ask about the injury. Some adults would have boxed our ears for such rudeness, but he was a kind man and bore our questions with humor.

  “Does it hurt?” We’d peer at the stump, marveling at the scars that remained where the village healer had sewn the skin together of the bone.

  He’d told us it did not, but there was something worse than pain. Sometimes, he said, he would wake and forget he did not have a leg. He fancied he could still feel it. His foot would itch, even though there was no foot. The sensation was so convincing that he would rise from bed, only to fall to the floor, his stump throbbing with hurt.

  As a child, I found this all very fanciful. How could a man forget he had no foot? How could he feel something that was not there?

  Only after my village was destroyed by the dragons did I finally understand. Some mornings, as I stir awake, I move to the left side of the bed, expecting to feel the warm body of my sister Zara, or imagining that I smell the morning porridge Mother is cooking, or that I hear my father’s cart rolling away as he heads to the fields. I smile, ready for another day as steady and dependable as a leg.

  Then, like the man in my village, I remember. And the loss would come crashing back, the absence pulsing through me like an ache.

  The Drakoryans who saved me say I belong to them now, that they will become my new kith and kin. The Lords of Za’vol — Turin, Zyviss, and Jayx—are big men, light of hair and tan of skin. When I sit surrounded by them, I feel as small as a child, and as helpless. They exude raw power that would make me feel protected were I not so afraid of them, of what they want.

  I cannot mourn forever. I know this. I also know that they are being patient. They are waiting. They are waiting to take me to their beds. They will not wait much longer.

  “Isla of Branlock,” they’ve said each morning since I arrived at Castle Za’vol. “How does this day find you?”

  I try to force a smile, but it is still so hard. Each glance of their smoldering eyes reminds me that these three huge dragon lords took me for a reason. They will have their due, grief or no, for they burn with a lust that cannot be contained.

  Lady Lyla explained it to me before I left Castle Fra’hir, which is where I awoke after being rescued from the well in my burnt village, the sole survival of a horrible slaughter. It was a dragon who did it — a terrible beast, black as night, with eyes that burned like fire. It was a ShadowFell.

  The Lady of Fra’hir said there are bad dragons in this world, like the ShadowFell, but that there are good dragons, too, and that it was the good dragons who had borne me to safety. She said the good dragons were different, for they were Drakoryans – a race that could transform into men. She said these were the same dragons that villagers sacrificed their daughters to, thinking they’d been killed. But the Drakoryans did not kill the maidens, but took them as mates.

  I would now be one of those mates, she said. Only I would be different. She told me that the Drakoryans are going to war with the ShadowFell dragons who destroyed my home. Much had changed, including the Drakoryan tradition of claiming virgin sacrifices from villages across the mountains. The threat of the enemy had necessitated the relocation of all villagers from across the mountains to the Drakoryan Empire. With conflict looming, some lords would be allowed special permission to take war brides.

  I would be the first.

  I did not want to hear this. I wanted nothing to do with any dragon.

  Lady Lyla had let me rail and rant. Even when I’d swept all the pre
tty bottles and vials from her dressing table in a helpless rage, she’d stood there. Only when I calmed myself did she approach me. She did not condescend, but neither did she indulge my pity.

  She told me I had every right to hate dragons, that were she in my situation, she would feel much the same. Then she told me that despite my anger and grief, this out my control.

  “You cannot change the past,” she’d said. “But you can shape your future. You cannot bring your village back, but you can forge a legacy that honors those who built it.” She’d taken my hands and looked in my eyes. Her gaze was braver than any man’s. “You will go with the Lords of Za’vol. You will learn that just as not all men are noble, not all dragons are monsters.” She’d smiled then. “The girl who clung to life in the bottom of a well survived for a reason. She has a purpose. Go with them. Go and find it.”

  “Isla of Branlock? How did you sleep?”

  This morning it is the youngest, Lord Jayx, who comes to greet me. He is sturdy and broad-shouldered with sun-kissed skin and a silver scar that traverses the muscle mounds of his chest. He has hair the color of summer wheat and eyes the color of ice.

  Like his brothers, he is gentle with me, but underneath I sense a barely contained tension, a fraying rope holding something inside him back. Still, he is solicitous as he asks me if I want a walk. He has not even tried to hide the erection that tents his leather skirt. None of them do, these lords.

  I know why I am here. So do they. Conversation is meant to distract us all until we can be distracted no longer.

  Today he gives me history of Castle Za’vol. Drakoryan lords, he tells me, are not named for their fathers or mothers, but for the mountains they claim when they reach adulthood. There are many castles on the ranges around the Drakoryan Empire, all ancient, all carved by the witches’ magic. Castle Za’vol is a steep, cloud-shrouded peak that overlooks a plain to the south dotted by growing villages housing humans who were evacuated before their village suffered the same fate as mine.

  To the north, the castle mount of Za’vol overlooks smaller peaks. A higher one looms over it to the west. There is a flanking wall on this side of the castle. This is where Lord Jayx takes me today. He says he has something he wants to tell me. He will tell it to me there.

  I have not been to this part of the castle. The wall reaches a dizzying height. Moist clouds surround us. Lord Jayx says it is not always like this, but on this day, the clouds make it difficult for me to see him. He looks like a large shadow in the mist, even though he stands beside me.

  “You are in mourning,” he says, stating the obvious.

  I don’t reply. Instead I strain my eyes to find a shape in the fog, a peak, a raven, anything.

  “I will not pretend that you have not suffered great hurt, Isla of Branock. I will not pretend that you will ever fully heal from your loss. But neither will I pretend that we can go on like this. Lady Lyla told you what would be expected of you here.”

  “I know what is expected,” I say. “You and your mighty brothers will take me to your bed chambers and fuck me. I will endure it, because that is what I have been taught to do as a villager, isn’t it? To endure the rule of the great Drakoryans, or suffer the consequences?”

  There’s a sigh in the fog. “All that we have done…”

  “…was your right as rulers.” I look over at him. The fog has cleared enough for me to make out his profile. To lessen the shock of what I would learn, Lady Lyla stood by me as I’d watch Jayx and his brothers shift into dragons. It was a lesson usually reserved for after mating, but things are different now. It occurs to me that Jayx slightly hooked nose is like the snout of the indigo dragon he can become. “Lord Jayx, I will not pretend to want any of this if you will not pretend that your patience is a favor. In the end, you will get what you want. Dragons always get what they want, whether it is the daughters of villagers or the destruction of a village.” I pause. “Regardless of what the kind Lady of Fra’hir says, you are all the same.”

  I can make out his features enough now to see a spasm of hurt cross his face.

  “No.” His tone has been kind until now. But there’s a firmness to his words. “We are not all the same. But you are right. We do get what we want.”

  He stares back out into the mist.

  “Tomorrow you will witness something no human virgin has ever seen. Tomorrow, my brothers and I will battle in dragon form for first rights to your body. In the past, before you, this battle was decided before we claimed a virgin from Altar Rock. But we want you to see your lords fight with flame and tooth and claw, so that you may know what we risk for the privilege of taking one so precious

  I know you don’t believe me, Isla of Branlock, but we consider lying with you to be an honor, an honor so great as to turn brother turns against brother.”

  The mist is starting to clear. I can see the mountain peaks, the craggy depths of the ravine below. I try to imagine dragon fighting dragon over me, a woman pulled half dead from the depths of a well swimming with ash and muck.

  Jayx is looking down at me. He is so tall and close enough that I can feel the heat from his body warming me through the mist.

  “And after that?” I ask, although I know what will happen. I shudder. It is easier to imagine these men warring as dragons than to imagine them taking me with anything other than roughness.

  Jayx doesn’t immediately answer. Instead he puts a forefinger under my chin and tips it up until I’m forced to look at him.

  “Afterwards, the victor will take his ease in the healing pools of our castle long enough to mend his wounds and regain his strength. And then he will come to you, Isla of Branlock. He will lay you on the bed and fight a new battle, one that has him control an urge stronger than a dragon, which is his deep desire. But he will, for the honor your body represents. It will be his duty to introduce you to the carnal mysteries, to show you how a masterful lord can play the strings of your body’s instrument to perfect pitch, to use his fingers and tongue and cock to draw you away — even for a moment — from the awful pain you feel. You will drift on an ocean of sensation. You will rise and fall on waves of pleasure. And the only cry you utter will be for your lover to end the misery of your virginity and to fill you with his cock.”

  His words have the strangest effect on me. My legs feel heavy, as if rooting me to this stone surface. I gasp, and realize that I had been holding my breath. But it is the soft, curious throb between my thighs that is most unnerving. It as if Lord Jayx has stirred something in me that had died the day the dragon had destroyed my village.

  I know what it is. Desire. Oh, yes, I have felt it. We were discouraged, in the village, from allowing such sensations. We were to stay as untouched maidens for three years after the age of claiming, to give the dragons time to take or pass us by. If we weren’t claimed in that time, we could mate. There were village boys who would return from the fields, their sleek, ropy arms and lean torsos glistening with sweat. I would draw water for them, and when I handed them a cup they would fix me with slow, easy smiles. And I would feel the tingling pulse of budding need.

  Those boys are dead now. Only I have survived, along with a need that feels like a betrayal of their memory. But it will not be denied any more than the dragon lords who plucked me from the well where I used to draw water for hopeful village lads.

  Tomorrow, they will battle for me. For my body. I will be the spoils in the first battle of a war we all fear.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TURIN

  Change is in the air.

  I can feel it.

  Change in the empire. Change in Castle Za’vol. Change in me and my brothers.

  Sometimes I think all women are witches, and the most powerful are the ones working unintentional magic. Isla of Branlock was half drowned and close to death when I found her, but the mere flutter of her eyelids, the glimpse of her green eyes, casts a spell on me as powerful as anything conjured by the denizens of the Mystic Mountain.

  I barely slept last
night, and when I roll from my side to my back this morning, I look down to see the sheet peaked across my aching loins. I instantly wonder if my brothers woke with the same desperate need, but when I thought of them another feeling swept over me: hatred.

  I do not like this, although my father told me these feelings of anger towards my beloved brothers is normal and will pass after the battle. He came to the castle yesterday and we shifted together and sparred for practice. He still remembers when he and his brothers fought for my mother, Lady Klea. He tells me the battle I face will likely stir the fire of that long-settled rivalry. Every Drakoryan wants first rights. Every Drakoryan wants the same for his son.

  I am faster than my father. I am stronger. I easily beat him. It will not be so easy tomorrow, he tells me. The lust that has built within us will become white-hot rage when we take to the skies. It is the one time in a Drakoryan’s life that sees him drawing dangerously close to a fully primal dragon state. Only defeat or victory can snap us out of it.

  My father talks almost wistfully of my coming battle with my brother, but part of me resents having to fight for Isla of Branlock. I was the one who found her. I was the one who saved her, who bore her back to Castle Fra’hir, where all the Drakoryan had gathered for Council. I was the one who’d lowered her into the pool.

  I was the one who’d saved her life.

  But this is more than a matter of fairness. It’s a matter of tradition, which binds the Drakoryan as surely as blood. Our enemy, the ShadowFell dragons, burned two villages and took the maidens. To save the rest, we relocated all the other villagers to the Drakoryan empire, to the shadow of our mountain castles. It required revealing our secrets, of pulling back the mystery of our kind. They know now that the dragons which came for their daughters could turn into men, that their daughters did not die, but became our mates. There is no longer a need to claim sacrifices. That tradition is lost.