Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  So when Jaseen came for strategy lessons from Kiril's father, Kiril-the-boy slunk away in a self-pitying temper rather than remain close by to see what the dragon egg had done to his cousin. Which meant no one had been around to protect Sabina.

  Kiril slammed the firestick into the ground, extinguishing the light, which was no longer necessary to cut the dawn mists. They were well into the mountains now, but they still had many hours left to travel before they reached the Wiaken Pass. Behind him, Natiya drowsed on Mobray's back. Ahead of him lay rocky terrain, sparse vegetation, and cliffs riddled with clutching caves. But with him—inside him—was the constant image of Sabina as she had appeared that day.

  The sounds were what drew him from his tree fort. The woods were never very thick there, the underbrush long since cleared away by students who ran or wandered through the greenery. More than one couple had exchanged illicit kisses against the trees, so Kiril was used to hearing giggles and soft moans echoing all the way up to his tree fort.

  But these sounds were different. Grunts—guttural, animal sounds mixed with muffled sobs. On some level, Kiril must have understood what was happening, because he brought his sword with him as he crept from his play place, but nothing prepared him for what he saw: Jaseen, his pants down to his ankles, contracting his buttocks with brutal force as he lay on top of a bruised and bloody Sabina. Kiril had called out—a stupid, childish mistake. He should have just chopped the monster's head off right then and there, but he had cried out—thereby alerting the beast—before he rushed forward, sword upraised.

  He knew Jaseen's reactions were quick—knew it, but had not truly understood how a dragon enhanced a man's fighting skills. In the time it took for Kiril to rush to Sabina's side, Jaseen had lifted himself off her, readied himself, then smashed his fist directly into Kiril's face. Kiril went down like a stone only to have Jaseen follow.

  His cousin's blows were brutal, punishing enough to break bones, but still Kiril fought as best he could. He'd kicked, struck, shoved, but in all that, Jaseen was only playing with him. They both knew Kiril could just scream—loud and long—and someone would come help. Someone who could have stopped it. But Jaseen had never allowed Kiril the breath, and Kiril had been too young to know how to prioritize energy, how to protect his ribs long enough for a single long bellow for help.

  Jaseen could have killed him then, probably would have but for Sabina. She could have run or screamed or done something, anything that would have saved herself. Instead, she threw herself onto Jaseen, raking her nails across his face as she pulled him off of his cousin. Then when the monster turned back to her, she had negotiated not for herself, but for Kiril's life.

  Yes, in the end he had lain on the ground, seven ribs broken, the bones of his sword arm snapped in two, while Jaseen returned to Sabina. The bastard spread her legs and took her like a beast in the field. Kiril tried to move, tried to help her, but the pain was too great and he'd passed out.

  Hours later he'd awoken in his room, encased in healing plaster, his mother sobbing silently by his side. Jaseen had been spirited away for the hatching. That was the reason for his behavior, they told him. And as for Sabina, she was gone on an extended holiday. Kiril didn't see her again until after the dragon's birth, after the fight and the murder of his entire family, and long after he had been brought to court to serve as a living example of what happened to those who challenged Dag Racho.

  "Slam that fire staff any harder and you'll break it."

  Natiya's soft words startled him, and he spun around, one hand already drawing his sword. She didn't even blink as she watched him with large, wary eyes. She waited until he relaxed, slowly returning his sword to its scabbard; then she spoke.

  "What were you thinking?"

  His first thought was to lie, to make up something she wouldn't question. But before he could bring a convenient excuse to mind, his mouth was already forming an honest answer. "About Jaseen. About dragon magic."

  "About why you suddenly hate me."

  He frowned at her. "I don't hate you."

  "No. Just the dragon magic. But right now, it amounts to the same thing."

  "Of course it doesn't." He stopped, turning to look fully at her. "Why would you think that?"

  He watched her sigh, felt his body tighten at the delicate rise and fall of her breasts. When she spoke, his attention riveted back to her face and her words.

  "Dag Racho is my enemy now. How many people, do you think, have survived as his enemy? How many live for more than a cycle?"

  Kiril didn't speak. They both knew the answer was zero. No one lived long once Dag Racho declared them an enemy.

  "I know this... lust... is dragon magic. I know it, but I don't care. I want to enjoy myself once before I..." Her voice trailed off, but he completed the thought for her.

  "Die? It may not come to that—"

  "Before things change," she interrupted. "We will get to the cave soon. You will find your lead on the Queen egg, and then your need for me will end."

  Given the way his body hungered, he sincerely doubted his need for her would ever end, but he didn't say that. Indeed, he was too busy damning himself for his own deceit. The danger to her was real, though exaggerated for his benefit. "There are ways to avoid Dag Racho. I could help you."

  Natiya shook her head. "The Emperor knows who I am now. He will not stop until he finds me."

  Kiril frowned. He heard the certainty in her voice and grieved that he was the one who had put it there. "You are too young to believe you will die tomorrow."

  "I will take what pleasure I can today and leave death until then." She looked at him boldly, her eyes open, her posture awkwardly seductive. She was clearly unused to playing the game between men and women, and yet his body reacted as if she were the most seasoned courtesan. Until he looked into her eyes and saw a worldliness at odds with her sexual innocence. She had obviously come to a decision and was now simply waiting for her path to play out.

  "Natiya, there are ways to escape the Emperor," he said.

  She smiled. "Did I ever thank you for my escape? Will you be in much trouble for it? Will they know it was you?"

  "I will be fine." He shrugged to cover his uneasiness. "There are ways for a governor to cover his tracks."

  "Kiril—"

  "No more," he interrupted. Then he stepped forward, touching her because he could not stop himself. He reached up to stroke her cheek, but she leaned forward, and without even realizing what was happening, he found himself kissing her. Well-schooled in kisses now, she opened her mouth, teasing him with her own tongue when he was reluctant.

  D'greth, she tasted good. His hand tightened, pulling her closer. She went willingly, leaning forward into his arms. He didn't remember setting the fire staff aside, but all too soon she was fully off Mobray and he was staggering slightly as her weight landed upon him. Exactly as it should be, he thought. Pressed fully against him. Beneath him.

  She was already on the hard ground and he kneeling above her. His hands were on her breasts, and behind him, Mobray was snorting and pushing at his rear. His beast wanted a treat for all his hard work, and Kiril kept the sweets in his back pocket.

  "Mobray," he muttered between kisses. "Not now."

  But his mount was determined, butting his head against Kiril's leg, his hip, and then one last time, hard, against Kiril's rear. Kiril overbalanced, dropping his shoulder and all his weight onto a sharp rock.

  "Mobray!"

  Natiya, of course, was giggling. Kiril at last saw the humor of the situation, and he too began to chuckle. And with the laughter came a release from the dragon magic. Or at least enough focus for him to stand. With one hand, he gave his mount the treats. With his other, he assisted Natiya to her feet. He didn't dare look at her, though, or they would be back on the ground. Keeping his gaze trained on the path ahead, he quickly mounted Mobray.

  "My eyes feel on fire," he lied. "I need some rest. Will you lead Mobray for a bit while I take a nap?"

&nbs
p; Peripherally he saw her press her lips together in resignation, her hands already busy returning her clothing to order.

  "Kiril—"

  "You will not die, Natiya," he swore. "There is time yet for you to find real love. Let us not cheapen you by giving in to false dragon magic."

  She faced him then, refusing to move until he looked at her. Even so, he kept his gaze trained to the side of her face, at a point just above her right shoulder.

  "This is real," she snapped. "Real feelings. Real need. If you do not want me, then just say—"

  "You know that's not true." His prock was like a living thing, practically dragging the rest of his body behind as it sought out her body. How real was that?

  "What I know," she returned, "is that you are a stubborn, foolish man who will not take the gifts you are offered."

  He laughed at that, the sound harsh and bitter. "You are right, Natiya. I will not take any gift from the flying serpents. If that makes me foolish, so be it." And with that, he folded his arms and shut his eyes, pretending to sleep.

  Eventually he heard her huff her disgust and begin to walk. He trusted her to lead them safely, honestly, to the caves. Indeed, he believed the need was so strong in her that she would go there with or without him now. Such was the nature of dragon magic. For whatever reason, it drew her to the clutching cave—probably because the Queen egg, wherever it was, was nearing hatching. Someone somewhere in the world struggled with an egg the size of a child's fist attached to his body. It would be unwieldy, but it offered such promise of power that few men could resist the temptation.

  It was said that the caves burned with an unholy light whenever an egg clutched there finally hatched. When Jaseen's Platinum had hatched, his clutching cave lit the shoreline like a beacon.

  Since Natiya was attuned to the cave, it did not surprise Kiril that she was drawn there. No, what worried him was what would happen after the hatching, after the cave's magic finally faded. How would Natiya feel about him then? About what they both wanted to do? The thought of her hatred—especially if they succumbed to temptation—kept him firmly settled on top of Mobray, his hands fisted where he tucked them tightly against his chest.

  He would not touch her. He would not succumb to the magic. He would not have her hate him.

  With those thoughts firmly settled, Kiril bent his mind to the task of sleeping. He failed, of course. No man could sleep with a belly-horn constantly poking him. But he tried nevertheless.

  An hour later, he grunted in disgust at himself. "Tell me about the books you read," he said.

  She jumped, obviously startled by his sudden words. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling blue fire in the morning light. "You're awake."

  "Never slept. The dragon magic irritates me." Which was the polite way of saying he was too aroused to rest. "Tell me what you read all alone in your bedroom."

  She turned away from him. "No dragon scrolls, if that's what you mean. As you know, Dag Racho burned all of those long ago."

  Yes, he knew. He recalled well how, after Jaseen's attempt on the throne, the Emperor had decided that no one would be allowed dragon knowledge. It wasn't just Natiya's family who perished that night. All the dragon scholars were destroyed, along with their families and all their worldly possessions. Whole universities had been burned, thousands of students disappeared, entire libraries were engulfed in flames. One night, one dragon, and it was all gone. It had taken Kiril weeks of dedicated searching—and a bit of luck—to discover that the merchant Rened didn't have a sister who'd given birth to Natiya. The "niece" he raised was really his neighbor's child, and one of the few survivors of the dragon purge. She only lived because the merchant had protected her so well. And because she was young and female, and therefore of little threat to the Emperor.

  "I wasn't looking for dragon lore," he groused, though a part of him had hoped she knew something. "I wanted to learn about you. What do you read?"

  She shrugged, the graceful movement seeming resigned, as if she agreed to talk only because it would pass the time. He didn't care so long as she spoke. If he couldn't have her body, at least he would have a little piece of her thoughts.

  "I read about foreign countries, mostly. Places Dag Racho's terror doesn't touch." She glanced back. "Do you know there are countries where there is no curfew? Where it takes twelve people to agree before a man can be sentenced to death? Where people do not disappear at night never to be heard from again." Her face took on a wistful expression. "I read about that a lot. I read about a country far to the east where laws are created by a group of people, not a single Emperor."

  He looked at her, his estimation of her intelligence rising by leaps and bounds. Clearly there was more to this little dancer than met the eye, but then he already knew that. "How do you find such books, Natiya? And are they written in a language you can read?"

  "Uncle Rened travels far and wide." Her voice turned light and dreamy. "He goes to a place called an open book market. Imagine! An entire market devoted to books from everywhere." She shook her head. "If I had a dragon, I would fly there every day."

  "You would have to teach your dragon not to blow fire and burn it all up."

  She laughed, and the sound lifted his spirit. "My dragon would not burn up things. My dragon would be a good dragon who helps people."

  There were no such beasts, he thought to himself. But he dared not voice it for fear of breaking the spell. Instead, he leaned back, watching her carefully. "But the words, Natiya. Can you read—"

  "I am good with languages," she said in Common, the tongue of merchants. Then she loosened her grip on the reins and allowed Mobray to walk ahead a bit so she could speak to him without craning her neck. "Tell me about the places you have visited," she said. "You must have gone everywhere."

  He shook his head. "Not everywhere. Probably not as far as your Uncle Rened, but I have seen many strange things."

  "Tell me!"

  He had her full attention now, and he was stunned by how heady an experience it was—and on a level completely different than the physical. Was dragon magic strong enough to make her attractive to his mind as well? He hadn't thought so, but then again, there was a great deal about dragons that no one knew. No one alive anymore, that is. Either way, it made no difference. He could not resist talking to her, and so he began to share his tales.

  "Many years ago, I heard of a dragon egg smuggled across the border to the south."

  "How did you get past the border guards?" she asked. "I hear the Pitswains are more territorial than a marshrat."

  He grinned. "You have read about them, haven't you? Well, did you know..."

  And in this manner they moved through the first half of Wiaken Pass and onto a side track invisible if one did not know where to look.

  Chapter 9

  "We're here."

  Kiril opened his eyes. He'd known they were close for an hour or more. They had spoken for hours, their understanding of one another growing with every shared story, every lively discussion. He was still in awe of the mind hidden beneath her surly dancer persona. D'greth, she was brilliant! And so beautiful that he'd had to curl himself around his fists to keep himself from touching her. In the end, he'd shut his eyes and pretended to sleep rather than torture himself with the sight of her.

  Looking at her now, he saw that she, too, was suffering. Her body was flushed, her dark red lips parted as she panted. She'd unbuttoned her shirt almost to her waist, leaving her flesh open to the cold air, but it obviously did little to cool the fever.

  Their eyes met—hers from in front of Mobray, his from his perch atop—and they shared a moment of silent accord. This hunger, this drive was unnatural, but neither of them could deny it. All it would take was one movement, one accidental touch, and he would be on her like a ravaging beast. Like Jaseen on Sabina.

  He spared a moment to wonder at the strength of the dragon magic. He had been in clutching caves before, but never a Queen's, and never one flushed with power as the
hatching drew near. The power was incredible, overwhelming. It—

  His thoughts were cut off as Natiya began to walk away.

  With firm movements and hands that shook, she pushed aside a thin sanga bush, its pink-petaled flowers breaking in her grasp. The perfume it released was heady, an intoxicating sweet musk scent. Or perhaps it was Natiya he smelled, for she too gave off a scent that slipped into his mind, curling into his imagination like a serpent. He knew exactly where the scent would be strongest on her, and he wondered what exactly she would taste like there.

  She had to work hard to get past the prickly leaves, and as he watched, her shirt caught on one of the broken branches. She tried to free herself, but then, with a sailor's curse, she simply shrugged out of the fabric. She spared one moment to look back at Kiril, her white shoulders and pink, pointed breasts gleaming in the afternoon light. They were trembling with the force of her breath, and he heard himself growl with need. The sound was bestial and should have served as a warning, telling him more clearly than anything that he was out of control. They both were. But it was too late, and the magic too strong.

  "In here," she said, her voice husky and low. Then she ducked her head and slipped into a dark tunnel opening.

  He followed her, shucking his coat and shirt as he went. Even his sword lay abandoned by Mobray, his only thought to follow her into that moist, dark place. He knew the ocean was close. Indeed, all clutching caves had to be accessible either by air or water, else how would the dragons find their way inside in the first place? But this was the back entrance—the human entrance—and he pushed inside without care or thought beyond reaching Natiya.

  The tunnel was short, quickly opening into an expansive cavern. To one side, he saw the remains of the clutch—empty now. Way ahead, the sea opening had teeth of ice, but the sun shone through with a beauty that should have been astounding. Instead, he saw Natiya, her back to him as she stretched her arms out as if embracing the light. She seemed to be humming, her entire being vibrating with the sound, which the cavern picked up and echoed through his body, his mind, his soul. It made his hands shake as he pushed off his trousers. He'd discarded his boots at the tunnel entrance.