Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  So, Kiril wanted to rut. Didn't every man? So he'd focused entirely upon spreading her thighs as opposed to someone else's. He was neither the first nor the last man to want her, at least for the moment. Eventually he would tire of her refusals and leave her alone. That made him no different from any of her other admirers.

  Except, he was different. He had broken her out of prison. He had treated her gently, respectfully; and in her experience that made him unique among men. And far from stopping her from using her mind, he was constantly challenging her to think more, to plan ahead, to reason out her options.

  But what really confused her was that, for the first time, she wanted him as much as he seemed to want her. He didn't even have to touch her. As a dancer, she was familiar with every ache her body could experience. He made her flesh respond in entirely new and devastatingly intriguing ways. She wanted him to touch her and do all those other things Monik talked about.

  She leaned wearily against the stall door, reaching through to stroke Mobray's nose, feeling an odd kinship with the bald creature. How often did Mobray feel buffeted by forces he could neither control nor understand?

  Two days ago, her only concern had been whether or not she could afford another costume. Within the last forty hours she'd been kissed, imprisoned, rescued, and now hunted. Worse, her egg had changed, growing larger and suddenly insistent that they travel immediately to the Queen's cave. Why? She didn't know. But the egg insisted, and she found herself powerless to deny it. Worse, her only bulwark in this storm was a man who seemed to increase the storm's power and fury.

  She felt her body tense, felt the moisture of desire. She didn't have to turn to know that Kiril had joined her in the stable. His presence affected her so strongly that even the egg seemed to vibrate with his every breath.

  He made it to her side, a heavy satchel slung across his back. "You're still determined to go?" he asked, his voice resigned. "We can't wait until morning?"

  "Now," she said, the word ringing clearly despite her doubts. Why the egg insisted it must go now, she hadn't a clue. But the urge—no, its demand—was undeniable. The egg needed to be at the cave quickly. Immediately, if possible. Even the wait to saddle Mobray made it twist in irritation.

  Kiril did not complain. He merely dropped his satchel at her feet before going in to saddle his mount. He was clearly peeved, no doubt because of her refusal to lie with him. But at least she'd gotten an answer as to why Dag Jaseen had failed.

  No, Jaseen hadn't been possessed by an evil dragon egg. The man had failed because he was a man and subject to all men's failings. They wanted. They rutted. And they usually didn't think beyond that. Thank the goddess Amia that she didn't have the same problem. She only wanted revenge on Dag Racho. She would make him pay for his crimes, and then the rest would fall where it may. As for rutting—she'd lived this long without it; she could go a while longer. Or so she hoped.

  "Hand me the bag," Kiril said, his voice sharp and cold.

  Natiya grabbed it, taking a moment to look inside. She saw food, water, a fire staff, even cleansing cloths for wounds. He appeared to have thought of everything, and she cursed her own stupidity. D'greth, she was unprepared. She would probably have just set out, not even thinking to grab more than a loaf of bread on her way through the door.

  What else didn't she know? What other skills did she lack? If nothing else, the last forty hours had told her that she was woefully unprepared for some of the challenges ahead. And yet, she saw no way to deal with her ignorance. Hatching time was fast approaching, and she would simply have to make do.

  With that grim thought in mind, she stepped back, allowing Kiril and Mobray to exit the stall. Moments later Kiril pulled her up with him, placing her once again half on his lap, half on the saddle. She went easily, settling too happily into arms. But that, too, was something she could not change. Her body was already humming in anticipation, her breasts growing heavy with longing, but she had no choice. He was her only means to the Queen's cave. They exited the stableyard quickly, but once away from the stable lights, the night closed about them. The three moons were small these days, making the darkness inky black.

  "Here," Kiril said as he lighted the fire staff. "You'll have to hold this. I've got the reins."

  She took the heavy rod with both hands, bracing it against her leg. The yellow light from its tip illuminated the path ahead, but it also functioned as a beacon for anyone in the sky: Dag Racho would have little difficulty finding them. She spared one last moment to try and reason with the egg. Certainly, she thought to it, we should wait the night—Now, was its only answer. So she sighed, relaxing back against Kiril's steady warmth. He felt as solid as any rock, and she could not resist smiling slightly. It was ridiculous to feel safe in this position—with this man—but she did. And since she had no choice, she decided to enjoy the sensations of his arms around her, his large hands resting lightly on top of her right thigh. Then, just as her eyes began to drift shut, his voice rumbled through her entire body.

  "What path do we take?"

  "Go east through the Wiaken Pass. There is a path just beyond."

  "How old were you when you last went there?"

  "Eight. Maybe nine," she lied. In truth, she had been fifteen and running from Uncle Rened.

  "How sure are you of this path?"

  Positive, she thought. But for his benefit, she shrugged. "It was a long time ago, but I think that's the way."

  Apparently, that was all he needed to know. He spoke his commands to Mobray, and soon they were moving through the night toward the Wiaken Pass.

  "Tell me about the cave. What do you remember?"

  Natiya shifted slightly, readjusting the firestick but mostly wanting to feel the contours of his body against hers. She seemed excruciatingly aware of his chest against her back, his hips and belt hard against her buttocks, and his corded thighs cradling her against the front ridge of the saddle. "I remember the air mostly. Cold and wet, and yet there was a tang in it that seemed to tingle against my skin." She wet her lips. "I could almost taste it." She sighed. "I suppose that doesn't make much sense"

  Kiril shook his head, his voice a low thrum against her back. "All clutching caves are like that. I cannot explain, either, but I know what you mean."

  "I didn't understand it, but I think my parents did."

  "Why?" His voice tightened with intensity. "What do you think they knew?"

  She shrugged—again, not because she needed to express her confusion, but because she liked the feel of moving against his body. "I don't know. They just seemed to spend a lot of time in there and were happier when we returned." The memories were tangled in her mind, confused and faded with time.

  "What else do you remember?"

  "Nothing." Unfortunately, that was true. Once one knew the path to the cave, the rest was no more than common knowledge. A dragon's nest was obvious—no more than a small circle of eggs on a pillow of spongy effluvium surrounded by a circle of stones.

  "Were there markers along the path? Could anyone find it given basic instructions?"

  "No and no. I remember because..." Her voice trailed away as she tried to isolate exactly why she did remember.

  "Because?" he prompted.

  "I don't know." She sighed. "I just remember, that's all."

  "Did you play in the caves?"

  She felt herself smile. "Always. My family used to tease me, saying I was dragonborn." She twisted, looking up at his face as she shared her memories. "They said I was conceived in a clutching cave, and born in one, too." She leaned back, relaxing into his heat once again. "They were dragon scholars, remember? They spent many years in or around the caves when my brother and I were little. They only came back to teach at the university and so I could go to school."

  She felt him nod, his chin rubbing in gentle strokes across her temple. "There is your answer, then. I have told you that dragons are filled with magic. If their blood holds special properties, doesn't it make sense that the place wher
e they mate and bear their young would also hold great power? Without even thinking about it, you probably attuned yourself when you were young."

  She hadn't considered that, but as soon as he said it, she knew he was correct. And the egg echoed his sentiments. Then the oddest thought popped into her mind, and since she was so relaxed, the words found voice even before she recognized the question.

  "How did your family find an egg? Where did they get it?"

  She felt him inhale, a sharp intake of breath before he finally released it in a slow, controlled whisper of air.

  "You don't want to tell me, do you?" she guessed.

  He sighed. "I have grown up in court, Natiya, where information is more valuable than gold loga. But there is no reason for you not to know." Still, he didn't immediately answer, and she was forced to twist, looking up into his face.

  "Kiril?"

  "They got it from your parents. How do you think I knew who you were? You were very young, no more than five, with short cropped hair and a penchant for stealing my soldier toys."

  "I did not!" she exclaimed. Or at least she had no memory of such an event.

  "Oh yes, you did. I believe you wanted to play school with them, taking my best wooden archers and punishing them when they couldn't spell words correctly." He chuckled at the memory, and she smiled along with him. "You had short hair and a perpetually dirty nose from all the places you kept poking it into."

  "What a rude thing to say!" she returned, pretending to an insult she didn't feel.

  "I was eight, and you were a royal pain."

  "And all the while our parents were plotting ..." Her voice trailed away in confusion. All this time, she'd thought them innocent victims of Dag Racho's dragon purge. To find out now that they had been involved in a conspiracy felt profoundly unsettling. She couldn't even say how, only that she did not like her view of the past altered.

  Kiril did not comment, but she felt his displeasure. He thought them fools, that the whole attempt to destroy Dag Racho had been ill-conceived from the beginning. And given that both their families had perished, perhaps he had the right of it. But if they had been wrong in their plans—her parents were dragon scholars, and his a great political family—then what chance did she have, a lone woman with no training at all? The very thought gave her shivers. Especially since she had no way to change course.

  "Are you cold?" he asked, tightening his arms around her.

  "No," she answered truthfully, then hugged his arms to her chest. "Just haunted by memories I'm not sure I understand."

  She felt his smile against her cheek. "That, too, I understand."

  They both fell silent, more in accord than ever before. But as they continued along the path, Mobray's monotonous rhythm merging into the inky night, Natiya felt melancholy build. She missed her family, even her little brother. She missed the life she had once lived. She no longer even knew if her memories were correct, and so she missed the security of those as well—the certain knowledge that her innocent parents had been wrongly destroyed.

  She still believed in her task, and yet... Loneliness ate at her.

  "Kiss me, Natiya. Please." His words trembled with an ache that echoed her own. Loneliness, grief and pain were all wrapped together in his request, offering her the simple relief of his touch—the only relief possible at the moment, and she welcomed it with open arms.

  Their lips touched briefly, then separated as Mobray shifted his gait to accommodate the rising terrain. But the change was subtle, easily adjusted to, and soon their mouths connected again. Connected, deepened, and began a dance she was all too familiar with by now.

  Pulling away, she turned to look out beyond the halo of firestick light. "I do not want to kiss you," she said to the enveloping darkness.

  "I know," he answered, his voice equally flat. "I don't want to desire you either."

  "I cannot stop these feelings."

  He stroked his cheek along the side of her head. "I must have you, Natiya. I do not know why, but the need grows stronger and stronger with every breath, every touch."

  "I know," she responded, not because of his words but because she felt an answering tide within her.

  "I am a man, not a beast!" he said, his words angry.

  "I will not be had by any of you," she returned, equally firm. And yet, for all their words, their hands had not been idle. His curled around her stomach, inching higher as they sought her breasts. Hers twisted her around so that she could look at him while she worked her fingers between the buttons on his shirt.

  Moments later, his groan signaled a surrender—for both of them. Their mouths met and clung once again. Within her she felt the egg begin to stir, vibrating with an energy that could have come from it or from her. She didn't know and didn't care; all she knew was that it fired her senses, pushing her to greater hunger, greater need.

  The buttons on her shirt were soon undone. Her breasts were exposed to the cold air only to be warmed by his large hands.

  "Turn around," he urged. "Face me and put your legs on either side of my hips."

  She shook her head, her words slipping out between kisses. "I'll fall."

  "I'll hold you."

  "It's too unstable. The ground is uneven." But even so, her legs were shifting, trying to maneuver.

  "Mobray's very sure-footed."

  "The firestick is falling!"

  "I've got it."

  "Amia!" she cried, invoking the goddess as he rescued the stick but lost her. She tumbled backward, falling off Mobray to land painfully on the very rocky ground. She knew the truth then; it came in a flash of the blindingly obvious as she watched the firestick twist and careen above her. She heard Kiril's curses as he struggled to control Mobray, the firestick, and the saddlebags that had come undone with her fall, all the while trying to see if she was hurt. She knew the truth then and accepted it with a liberating fatalism.

  They were going to rut together, she and Kiril. Not just once, but likely many, many, many times. Despite the Emperor who hunted her. Despite the risk of discovery that her "belly jewel" grew and pulsed in a way that no cold stone could. Despite her resolve to keep everything the same until she understood the reasons behind and consequences of every action. Despite it all, she and Kiril would become lovers.

  "Natiya! Are you all right?"

  She laughed, feeling the humor shake through her like a small echo of the tremors deeper within. She laughed long and hard, and also with such joy that tears streamed from her eyes.

  "Natiya? What is happening?"

  She didn't know, so she couldn't answer. Or perhaps she did, because something else had just become blindingly obvious.

  "I just figured out why my parents liked going to the caves. And all this time, I thought it was for scholarship."

  He was silent for a long time as he stopped Mobray, resettled the bags, then dismounted. "They are clutching caves. The... sexual magic would be strong." He moved to her side.

  She smiled, coming to her feet in a slow, languid movement. She glanced to the side, seeing Kiril swallow convulsively as she stretched her arms high above her, her naked breasts thrusting forward in the chill air. His gaze was riveted to her, his prock obvious even through the layers of his clothing.

  How wonderfully powerful I feel, Natiya thought with surprise. How easy it was to reduce a strong, competent man into a mesmerized slave. "So, it is only the caves, you think?" she asked sweetly. Coyly.

  Abruptly he turned away, his hands fisted and his shoulders rigid. "Dragon magic," he cursed, spitting the words out like bad meat. "Of course."

  She felt her arms slip down as she stared at his back. "You don't like dragon magic?"

  He lifted his chin but did not look back at her. "I use dragon magic. I will not be used by it." Then, before she could ask for more information, he spoke again, his words hard and cold, aimed at himself, not her. It was as if he were issuing orders to his own body. "I am a dragon hunter. I cannot be vulnerable to dragon magic in any form."r />
  "But this—"

  "Dragon magic," he continued, "is evil magic. It undoes the mind. It turns warriors into beasts. I will not allow it." Then, without hint or warning, he spun around, grabbing her firmly around the waist and lifting her onto Mobray's back. He grabbed the firestick, using it more as a walking stick than a light source as he gathered the reins and began to pull Mobray and Natiya forward.

  "Kiril?" she asked when he did not join her on his mount.

  "I will walk for now."

  She stared at him, seeing the absolute determination in his heavy footfalls, his firm stride. She could hardly believe it, but the proof walked angrily by her side. The very moment that she finally succumbed to his seduction, to the sensuality that still shimmered just beneath her skin, was the very moment he resolved to disdain her. She ought to be thrilled—at least one of them remained rational—but instead she felt a childish irritation cutting at her. As if he had suddenly taken away her toys.

  "And Natiya?" he said.

  She straightened, hope sparking within her. "Yes?"

  "Cover yourself. It will be even colder in the caves."

  * * *

  Kiril was losing the war. He knew it with absolute certainty, but he couldn't summon the will to care. In fact, he was having trouble remembering exactly why he was so intent on not bedding Natiya. She was beautiful, absolutely willing—or would be with a little encouragement—and yet he was stomping in front of his mount like a man on a forced march. What was wrong with him?

  He didn't have to wait long for his answer. All he had to do was close his eyes and see Sabina as she had looked when Jaseen had finished with her. It had been near hatching time, so the magic ran strong within him, and like all the women, she had been entranced by his golden beauty, his rippling muscles and his sweet, innocent smile.

  Kiril was eleven and already feeling betrayed by the cousin who had once been his friend. Not because of the brooch; it would be years before he learned of that small deceit. But because Jaseen's laughter mocked instead of expressed joy. His words cut rather than instructed. And he had no time for a young boy except to expose Kiril's ineptness at swordplay, at learning, at everything. And he was especially cruel when girls came by to watch.