by May Sage
“Stay with me, Rogue,” said she.
He wished he could, but he had to go now.
“Dammit. Sorry, Xandrie, I’m going to have to borrow your strength.”
Hundreds of miles away, the Queen of Farden cried out in surprise as an acute pain gripped her. Demelza closed her eyes, and recited every healing spell she could recall, to breathe life back into the limbs of the King of the Fiery Shadows.
Unexpected
When Ash opened his eyes, absolutely everything hurt; a good indication that he was alive. An unexpected outcome, given his last memories.
He sat up on the ground, wincing at the effort.
"Shush, now. You shouldn't move that much."
Ash's head snapped to his left, and his eyes widened. Then, he blinked.
He remembered seeing the woman, but he'd imagined it was nothing but a dream; the last visions conjured by a fading mind in an effort to reach peace before death. For one, he'd never seen such an enchanting creature in all of his hundred years; the likelihood that he would come across the likes of her at the moment he was about to die, and that she so happened to be a healer, defied logic. And yet, here she was, exactly as he remembered, gold skin, vibrant eyes so green they almost glowed in the night.
She had fire inside her, he could feel it. A lot of fucking fire. This was no irrelevant maiden. He was standing before Farden nobility, no doubt.
All his life, he'd been told that the other dragon kingdom was full of weaklings and he'd believed it. If they weren't weak, why would they have snuck into their lands in the middle of the night and taken his sister? That was the move of cowards. The only reason why Absolia hadn't attacked was the survival of the species. There weren't enough dragons left in the world to afford the demise of hundreds of their peers, even if they were the cowards from these godforsaken lands.
Now, in front of the woman who'd saved his life, Ash found himself doubting what he'd heard of Farden. This was no weakling.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She laughed. "That isn't how it works, Rogue. I found you on our land and you're not from here."
Rogue. He almost laughed.
Ash replied, "Do you presume to know all dragons in your kingdom?"
"I know all firelords," she replied, confirming his suspicions.
So, he'd been right: she was nobility.
Firelords were the strongest of their kind, those whose fire could be felt with one glance, would they be in their human or beast form. Generally, it came down to having the right lineage, so their powers passed from the lords to their sons and daughters. However, sometimes new, nameless firelords were born from the simplest of parentage—farmers, fishermen, simple merchants. When that occurred in Absolia, the moment their strength was identified, they were brought to be knighted, congratulated, and trained. It was the safest course of action.
Ash didn't imagine that things were very different in these accursed lands. The firelords who passed through the net and remained outside of the court were called rogues.
Ash understood why she mistook him for one, but as king, he was the very opposite.
"All right. Got me. I'm not a firelord registered to Farden."
"Which makes you a rogue. I have to bring you in."
Their kingdoms weren't different at all, it appeared.
Rogues were a menace to all. Firelords needed to be loyal to the crown, or there would be chaos.
Among the wolves, when there were two born alphas in the same territory, they fought to the death until a leader was chosen. Firelords were dominant and naturally inclined to lead, to fight, and claim what they desired, just like alphas. Dragons attempted to be somewhat more civilized than wolves in the matter. As long as the firelords bowed to the king, all would be well.
Ash snorted. The beautiful woman wanted him to bow to Rhey Vasili. He'd sooner rip his throat open. Which was why the charming lady wasn't taking him anywhere, even if she batted her dark, long lashes and beckoned him forward with a crooked finger.
That plan might have worked out better than what she was trying to do: intimidating him, glaring with her hands on her hips.
"Thanks for the offer. I'll pass. Don't worry, I'll be out of your lands in no time."
He had to get to the coast the sea wolves had talked of and enquire about his sister. He just had to. He was too close to give up now.
All his life, he'd felt wrong about his position. Felt like he was usurping a throne that didn't belong to him. His instincts said that his sister was alive, somewhere.
Absolians weren't like the dragons of Farden. When they'd parted ways from the rest of their kin, they'd had one leader. To this day, that leader's blood ran in every king's veins, and always, always, the firstborn heir had become king or queen. Their laws of succession were written in blood and magic on their thousand-year-old charter, binding them. It meant something. On his honor, he'd at least attempt to find the true queen.
And then, whatever the result of his quest, he'd head back home, to Absolia, where he'd take care of the traitor.
He still didn't understand how he could have been betrayed by his own cousin. It could be no one else. Damion wouldn't ever attempt to hurt him, not if his life depended on it. Of that, Ash would never doubt.
Being linked to a rider meant more than any other bond. A dragon could, with some strength of will and determination, survive the death of a mate. It often led to insanity, but many had lived through it, nonetheless.
No one could survive the demise of their rider; and likewise, the rider died the instant their dragon was slain.
Damion would have felt his pain earlier. And if Ash was sure of one thing, it was that the rider was on his way to join him as they spoke.
With an army, no doubt.
Damion would have known that Ash was hurt; he wouldn't have realized that the blow came from Gragnar.
If he didn't get word to him, and fast, there would be war by morrow.
He needed to make haste, which meant that he needed some guidance through these lands.
Perhaps the beautiful dragoness could be of assistance, come to think of it.
"Listen, I just need to go to the village closest to the beach in the east. Then you can escort me to the closest border and I'll be out of your air."
"Sure."
Ash tilted his head, and frowned, surprised that it had been that easy. She'd seemed like the kind of woman who needed convincing.
"Really?"
"Yeah, come on up, let's go."
She extended her hand, and he took it, somewhat tentatively.
The instant her skin came in contact with his, a wave of green energy burst out of her—same color as her eyes, but so very bright it blinded him.
He lifted his hand to shield his eyes and froze in horror.
"Did you just bind me to you?" he practically yelled.
There was a translucent bond around his wrist, immaterial and yet so very real he could feel it there.
The woman shrugged. "Let's face it, it's not like you would have come quietly. Let's go. I want to get home."
Snarling, Ash took a step toward her and growled. "You will release me."
No one had ever tied a Dracul and today would not be the day that changed.
His wave of dominance would have made many cower and all bow before him. It was in his blood, in his soul, and in his dragon's.
Only three could possibly resist such an order from him.
The first one was Rhey Vasili, his equal in his own realm. The second was Damion Astria, his rider, his dragonlord. Dragons were darkness and the dragonlords, their Aether, their light. When Damion had forged a bond with him, he'd become part of him, sharing all of his strength.
The last was his mate. The man, or woman, fate had designed for him would not fear him.
So Ash expected to see her shiver and lower her eyes. Obey his every word. Strong as she was, although she wasn't his subject, he had no doubt that she would respond to a dragon king's compelli
ng.
The woman snorted and shrugged.
"On your feet, Rogue. I'll take you to Rhey and then you can plead your case."
Bound
The rogue was pissed that she'd bested him, that much was clear. Demelza knew men like him; always so very shocked that a lady such as her could be so sneaky and underhanded. Whatever. It got shit done. She needed him to follow her, for various reasons.
The first was that a firelord such as him should never be left alone. The second was the fact that these lands were dangerous and his strength didn't matter right now: he was still hurt and wandering could be dangerous. The lands of Farden were full of shifters who didn’t like strangers, and feral beasts who liked no one at all. Since the attack on the gates of Norda, they had to be even more cautious. He was Demelza's responsibility now.
The rogue didn't seem to see things her way.
"Get this bond off me, woman!"
She had to laugh. It had been a while since she'd met a man brave enough—or more than likely, stupid enough—to talk to her that way. "Woman, is it? Maybe if you'd asked nicely. Then again, maybe not."
"You don't understand who you're toying with."
She rolled her eyes. "A random stranger who'd be dead right now if not for me."
That reminder seemed to alleviate his anger, just a bit. The stranger still glared, but his tone was a little less threatening when he said, "I need to go on."
She sighed. "All right. You tell me what you're doing here, and maybe, if your answer is satisfactory, I'll think about letting you go."
Probably not, but knowing his intentions would be helpful.
The man thought it out for a moment, before replying cautiously, visibly curating his answer. "A long time ago, my older sister was taken from my family. Rumors have caught my ear that suggest she may roam in these lands."
Ah. That certainly did deserve attention. It was probably one of the only answers he could have given that made her an asshole for detaining him. If he was telling the truth.
Demelza frowned. "Taken," she repeated.
The rogue nodded without offering further explanation.
"As in, without her consent; she didn't run away."
"She was very young at the time."
Demelza titled her head. "Then, how would you know she's here?"
The rogue remained silent. It either meant that he was lying, or that it wasn't any of her business. Elza wouldn't have gambled on it, but she was fairly certain that it was option two. He didn't have any false looks, twitchy eye or anything. And a liar would have crafted a complicated story rather than refusing to add more.
She sighed.
"We had a firelord in my lands, some fifty years ago. He was a loner, refused to come present himself to the king, and at the time, I thought, what's the big deal? It's his life. If he wants to spend the rest of it working his fields, why should it matter? And so, I didn't tell my parents. A few years later, he'd gone truly mad. Kidnapped girls, forced them to stay, did unspeakable things to them. When they weren't of use anymore, he'd let them run, and then chased them down, before eating them. Being a powerful dragon means that our beast, our shadow selves, is prominent. It takes more than a strong mind to counter that. It takes a pack. A leader."
The stranger snorted. "He wasn't a cannibalistic rapist because his darkness was great. He was weak, foolish, and bestial. I'm none of those things. And I do have a pack, woman. Hence why I have no intention to join yours."
She frowned. There weren't any known conglomerations of dragons except for the two kingdoms; Faren and Absolia. He certainly wasn't Absolian; for one, none of them were crazy enough to trespass on their land. That could lead to war. Secondly, they were known to be brutal, cruel, and sadistic. This guy certainly didn't fit the bill.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
Again, her question was met by silence. She sighed.
"Look, how about we go to the palace and you talk to Rhey? He'll probably even help you find that sister of yours, if she's here."
Now, the man was laughing. "Rhey Vasili? Listen to the likes of me? Unlikely."
And perhaps it might have seemed a little out there, for a simple rogue.
"He will if I ask him," she told him.
Now, the stranger was observing her closely.
"Who are you?" he asked, for the second time.
It was her turn to snort. "You evade all my questions and I'm supposed to reply to yours?"
The rogue smiled, entirely unexpectedly. It made him look even more handsome, which wasn't fair.
"I answered one."
He had, and fair was fair. "All right. I'm vaguely related to Rhey; his first cousin's cousin. But, I was raised with him and I have his ear. Besides, I'm also councilwoman to the new queen."
Ash frowned. "Farden has a queen?"
"We do now."
If he didn't know that, he truly didn't live here. News of Rhey's wedding had been sent from one corner of the realm to the next. Demelza pondered her next course of action. If he wasn't causing trouble in Farden, then perhaps it was better to let him go; he'd look for his sister and be on his way when his quest was over.
Somehow, she didn't know why exactly, but she didn't like the thought of that. No, she wouldn't have minded seeing more of this stranger.
He was mouthwatering, for one. Tanned, defined muscles were visibly honed and sculpted. An ax wouldn't have looked wrong in his hands. Maybe a sword. And secondly, he wasn't intimidated by her. Hell, he'd even tried to shove his dominance in her face, and for a split second, it had almost worked. That made him the first man, unrelated to her, who could boast of being able to go toe to toe with her.
She wanted him on his back, under her, with bonds around his hands as she rode him. How long had it been since she'd wanted a man like this? A long, long time. Not since she'd discovered she had a clit, no doubt. Demelza had only taken a few years to learn that men weren't all that gifted at finding it. She played with women, more often than not. But him...yes. She wouldn't mind showing him how to make a woman happy.
Just as soon as he was done glowering, growling, and muttering about "damn women."
"It's Demelza, by the way," she said.
The man lifted a brow. "My name. Elza for short."
He watched her for a minute, as if to decide whether she was worthy of hearing his.
"Ash," he said finally. "My name is Ash."
Mate
He needed to get out of these chains. Shit. He'd never been in chains before. It sucked. Right now, he seriously wished he'd bothered to learn some sort of disenchantment, but what does a king with a sorcerer and three mages at his beck and call need with spellbooks?
Realizing how dependent he was on his rank and title was a blow. Ash would have thought he was stronger than that.
He certainly could have been caught by a worse jailor, at least. His mate was nice to look at, for one, but more importantly, each time he started to feel down, she seemed to instinctively know it and she gave him a potion that helped his limbs and mind, and healed his dragon. He'd be at full strength soon enough.
"What is she like? Your sister."
Ash was so startled by the unexpected question, he answered it truthfully before he thought better of it.
"I don't know. I never knew her. She was taken when I was a baby. We're but a few years apart. My father had her with a lover; soon after, he met my mother, his mate."
Demelza lifted a brow. "Two children? A rare blessing."
It would have been a blessing if his sister had been raised with them, in any case.
"So, what makes you think she could be here?"
He had to be more careful. Mate or not—and there was a slight chance that he could have got that wrong. Right?—the female was still a member of the Farden court. He couldn't trust her. If she was still alive, somehow, he couldn't put his sister's safety at risk; not for anything or anyone.
"It's a dull story I don't care to share today. What about you
, Elza? Do you often wander the lands, coming to the rescue of strangers?"
If so, he might have to lock her up in a tower until she became more sensible. She could have been hurt. It could have been a trap. The wilderness was full of perils.
"Only when they're very handsome," she replied with a wink.
Many women showered him with attention. Ash was used to flirting. It had been a long time since it had affected him. And here he was, feeling his skin flush.
Flush, dammit! It was the sway of her hips. Or her lashes.
Or just the fact that she was his, his mate. How else could she have resisted his order? And she was paying him a compliment. He craved more, and the dragon inside his skin concurred. Tired and hurt as he was, he wanted to jump out of him and show her how great and magnificent he was. Hear her call him handsome, too.
Shit. Why had no one warned him that his mate would turn him into a complete idiot?
Probably because no one had thought that he would—or wished that he would—find her.
Most kings of Absolia didn’t, and it was better that way.
There were three main races in their kingdom: werewolves in the south, bears in the northern woodlands, and dragons, mostly settled in and around their hills and mountains. Ash, like his father before him, and his father's mother before that, ruled over all, and with such responsibility, came a set of duties. One, in particular, was incompatible with a fated mate.
Ash was to have three spouses; or one wife and consorts, if he so wished. It had long ago been decided that one representative from each clan should sleep in the king's bed. From what Ash knew of mates, she might have a thing or two to say against that.
The former queens of Absolia had wedded a male from each clan and the king had taken three females, too. This was the law their nation had been built on. It wasn't perfect—squabbles between spouses were frequent and often ended with a dagger inside someone's heart. Hell, to this day, no one knew who'd killed his father the day of his birth. Some said his sister's mother, some said the third wife, Lauus, from the bear clan. Many accused his mother, who'd benefited above all. As she was the mother of the future king, she'd been left to rule the country as his regent for twenty-five years after that.
