Dragonborne

by Chandra Ryan

  Who’d have thought being excommunicated would work out so well? She chuckled to herself lightly.

  “Mommy Sophie, mommy Sophie!”

  Sophie looked down at the small girl who was barreling down the aisle, running full speed at her.

  “Yes, Tasha, what is it?”

  “Papa Reuel said I could plant the spring garden this year!”

  She laughed at the girl’s joy. “He did?”

  “He promised.”

  “And what will you plant?”

  “Berries, and flowers, and melon.”

  “She doesn’t want any vegetables, though.” Reuel’s deep voice made her smile.

  “And I suppose you told her that was okay?”

  “Did you honestly expect me to be the bad guy?”

  Sophie chuckled softly at his words, her stomach jiggling with her merriment.

  “And what of Marcus? Did you two have a good day?”

  The sparkle in his eyes disappeared at the mention of the girl’s older brother. “He’s coming around. But his scars are far deeper, his nightmares more real.”

  She nodded her agreement, but her smile suddenly felt stiff. “He’ll get there.”

  “He’s been through a lot. I don’t hold his feelings against him.”

  It was comforting for her to know he understood and wasn’t losing patience with the sometimes-wild boy. She wanted nothing more than for her family to be whole, but it was enough for her to know they were working on it.

  Reuel continued to speak, but the meaning of the words escaped her as her abdomen cramped, the pain almost bringing her to her knees. In an instant she felt Reuel’s strong arms wrap around her, giving her support.

  “Are you okay, Mommy Sophie?” The girl was right with them, her eyes bright with worry.

  “I’m fine sweetheart. I think the baby’s ready to come. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “How long have you been having pains?” Reuel stroked her hair as he brought her down to sit next to him, her head leaning on his chest for support.

  Looking up into his eyes, she shook her head. “Most of the day, but that one was stronger.”

  “But I’ve been keeping a close watch; you haven’t been worried or anxious.”

  “Why would I be worried or anxious?”

  His shoulder’s shook with silent laughter. “I’ve just heard most women are.”

  Another contraction took hold of her but as the pain peeked Reuel swept a hand over her abdomen, taking the pain with it.

  “Reuel?”

  “Silly woman, when will you learn? I’m a dragon.”

  She relaxed into his arms as the contraction ended.

  “Maria!” Reuel’s booming voice carried through the entire abbey. “Maria!”

  When the woman burst into the room, she was breathless and her cheeks a bright red. “What is it?”

  “It’s time. Can you take Tasha?”

  “If I take Tasha, who’s going to birth the baby?”

  Reuel looked at the woman, his head cocked to one side. It was a look Sophie knew too well; he was debating whether to answer the question bluntly or diplomatically.

  “I am.”

  Maria looked a bit put off by his answer, but Sophie was relieved. There wasn’t time for the arguments that always seemed to come with diplomacy.

  “Are you sure? Women usually do the birthin’ around here.”

  “He’s not going to give on this one, Maria. Take Tasha out to play.”

  As the two left, Sophie felt another contraction, although this one didn’t hold any pain. “We should move you to our room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

  She stood, but the urge to push came before she could take her first step. “I don’t think I’ll make it.”

  He looked down at her swollen abdomen and nodded. “You’re right, he’s already very low.”

  “He?”

  “Yes, he.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “For about six months.”

  “And you didn’t tell me!”

  “You said you liked surprises.”

  “Surprises…like flowers where there…was dead earth, or early spring warmth…” Her contractions were making it hard to talk.

  “Now’s not the time to argue, Sophie.” His mouth twitched suspiciously, like he was suppressing a smile. “You’re going to need your strength.”

  “You’re…right…” Her breathing was coming in ragged pants now. His magic may be able to take the pain away, but it couldn’t make birthing any less work for her body. “But I…plan on finishing this after…he’s born.”

  “Let me help you get your breeches off.”

  “Isn’t that what got…us here?”

  He laughed at the joke as he undressed her, then guided her back to the floor. “Lie back, support your weight on your elbows, and when you feel the next contraction I need you to push.”

  Keeling in front of her, he murmured inaudible words as she began to bear down and push with the contractions. Sweat beaded at her forehead and her legs were shaky with exertion when he spoke next.

  “Wait, sweetheart, one second.”

  There was a brief pause as he freed the shoulders and then the wonderful sound of a baby crying.

  “He’s perfect.” Reuel’s voice was deep with emotion as he held the tiny baby.

  Sophie looked up at him to see his eyes sparkling with tears.

  “What should we name him?” She held her hands out, wanting to hold her baby.

  “Jivan.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Life.”

  “Do you think he’ll be a healer?” Sophie felt the spike of fear mixed with anger, but didn’t react to it. She’d had plenty of time to get used to feeling his emotions through the bond. “Because I think it’d be great to have another healer to love.”

  “Really? You’d be okay if he…” He paused and her heart contracted with his pain.

  “I’d love nothing more.”

  With that the fear and anger was swept away, replaced by the peace of acceptance.

  “I don’t know. He’s got enough dragon blood to have some ability, but not enough for it to manifest at birth. It looks like we’re going to have to wait to see what he can do.”

  She smiled happily at the thought of the coming years. “I’m willing to wait, I guess. Now, come here, little Jivan. I want to count your fingers and toes.”

  Reuel handed her the tiny baby then moved to sit behind them, letting her lean on his chest for support.

  “I love you, Reuel.”

  “That’s good, because forever is a very long time.”

  About the Author

  With a background in psychology, Chandra Ryan has always had an interest in people, the interactions between them, and how these interactions are forged into relationships and trust. Though her worlds are based in a realm of paranormal fantasy and her characters may be of mythical origin, they come alive because of their humanity.

  When not writing, Chandra spends her days with her family, finding inspiration from wherever it may come; playing with her kids, hiking through the forests trails with her husband, or watching the incoming freshman find their way while sipping her Spanish Latte at the corner coffee shop.

  To learn more about Chandra Ryan, please visit www.ChandraRyan.com. Send an email to Chandra Ryan at Chandra@ChandraRyan.com.

  Human for half a month, dragon for the other half…

  his salvation lies in the hands of a young, broken thief.

  The Dragon of Ankoll Keep

  © 2007 K.S. Augustin

  Seeking a mythical treasure in a far-off land is, at best, a risky venture. And that's before Gamsin discovers an enchanted man/dragon thrown into the mix. He extends his hospitality, and generous spirit, to her. But, as Gamsin knows from bitter experience, there is always a price to pay.

  Ankoll has been dragon-cursed for five hundred years and is desperate for someone to help him end his enchantment.
Where Gamsin sees only hurt and pain, he sees a woman of depth and strength.

  In his search for the master sorcerer who punished him in the first place,

  Ankoll and Gamsin travel to the isolated Twilight Ranges and confront an evil previously banished from the world. Will Gamsin, a broken young woman, be strong enough to give Ankoll the support he desperately needs? And what of the man-dragon who begins to realize that a hated form may be the only salvation for their world?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Dragon of Ankoll Keep:

  Gamsin sat up in bed, gasping, her hand moving to her throat, feeling the soft cotton of her nightdress against her skin.

  Nightdress?

  She looked down at herself. She was in her bed, the blanket covering her. Around her, the furnishings of her chamber looked ordinary and mundane. One of her window’s shutters was open, spilling bright morning sunlight into the room.

  Sunlight?

  But shouldn’t she be at the top of the keep? And what happened to the dragon? She frowned, trying to concentrate. She remembered the dragon, remembered it turning into Ankoll and him approaching her. Oh, she had tried to do as he asked. Truly, he was an exceptional specimen of manhood and she wanted to show her gratitude for all he’d done—extending his protection and the peace of his keep to her. But he’d chosen the wrong deliverer. She was too weak and too broken to aid him and had said no.

  What had happened then? She wished she knew, but a fog descended on her recollection.

  Did they mate? Did he—?

  Frantically, she moved a hand between her legs, but felt no betraying wetness. No, no man had found his own pleasure inside her body last night.

  But if she had turned Ankoll down, who moved her to her room and changed her clothing before settling her peacefully in bed?

  Gamsin threw back the covers and got up, dressing quickly. Hopping, she pulled on her boots then opened the door, flying down the stairs. She stopped on the second level when she heard sounds emerging from the kitchen, and approached warily.

  “Greetings.” Ankoll smiled, turning at the sound of her quiet footsteps. He was carving a loaf of bread, laying thick slices on a platter, next to wedges of ham and yellow farm cheese. Beside the platter stood two mugs of ale. Despite herself, Gamsin’s mouth began to water. She’d tried her best for the past two weeks, but had to admit she didn’t have a tenth of Ankoll’s culinary skills. It was all she could do to hack off some inexpert pieces of ham and wolf it down just to keep the hunger pangs away. In truth, she’d never eaten so well as when she dined with him.

  “Breakfast will be ready in minutes,” he told her.

  She moved to a bench and sat, still eyeing him with suspicion.

  “You’re back to being human.” It was obvious, but the only thing she could think of saying.

  He nodded his head agreeably, a smile playing on his lips. He looked the same as always, dressed in his usual open-necked shirt and dark breeches. His fingers were their usual lean lengths, not even slightly resembling flesh-rending talons. But Gamsin could not forget the night visions that had confronted her at the top of the keep.

  “Will you…turn back into a dragon?” she asked, watching him.

  Ankoll brought the mugs over to the rough wooden table, followed by the platter.

  “No,” he paused. “Well, I don’t really know. Perhaps not.”

  He helped himself to some food.

  “But we didn’t…” Gamsin faltered. “I don’t remember…”

  “We…came to a different resolution. The first part of the curse is lifted, I know that to be true. But I can still feel the spirit of the dragon within me.”

  The spirit of a dragon…the sharing of one consciousness between two entities…

  “What’s that like?” Gamsin asked, chewing on some bread. He’d made her two loaves before he changed, but they had only lasted a week and got hard and dry near the end. Now Ankoll was back, and she gratefully devoured a slice of the fresh, light loaf.

  “To be a dragon?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s a fearsome beast, ruled by twin passions of greed and hunger. It’s difficult having such an unbridled spirit rule you for half of your life.” He drank some ale. “It frightens me to admit that such licentiousness can be liberating, until you hear the cries of people and realise that you’ve struck down one of their loved ones, or spirited away their only food for the winter.” He swirled the liquid around in his mug, watching it. “Maybe that’s what the sorcerer Beltrin had in mind all along when he laid such a curse on me—to show me the folly of ignoring my own people and putting my own needs above theirs.”

  “But if the curse is lifted, then you can be ruler to your people again,” Gamsin countered. “You can bring the castle and your lands back to greatness.” It made her heart sink to say each word, but it was the truth.

  Ankoll smiled and shook his head.

  “I am centuries past doing this. My blood kin are all dust and my lands now belong to another lord. It is only the isolation of this castle—and the barriers I have put to its access—that keep me safe here. No, I have another task and that’s to find Beltrin.”

  “The sorcerer who did this to you?”

  “The curse is not fully lifted, I can feel this. I need to find him.” He lifted his blue gaze to Gamsin’s. “Will you help me?”

  “I? Help you?” Surely she was the one responsible for the curse continuing instead of lifting. Hadn’t she done enough damage? “How could—”

  “You are brave and smart, young Gamsin. You are also of this world and know more of its workings than I. My knowledge is centuries old and pitiful.”

  “But how can you be sure Beltrin is still alive?”

  Ankoll took a deep breath. “I can feel him still in this spirit world. His trace is faint, but I can track it. Tell me you will help me.”

  She looked at him helplessly. Her, help a sorcerer? Surely he was jesting! But, then, how else could she make up for her betrayal?

  “You have helped me once before,” he pursued. “You showed courage when none others, in hundreds of years, did. Help me again, Gamsin Thief. Please.”

  Whore…gift…and unexpected ally.

  Before the Storm

  © 2010 Marian Perera

  Eden Trilogy, Book 1

  In Dagran society, Alex is the lowest of the low—a “mare”, an object to be used by the nobility. When her owner, Stephen Garnath, gifts her to his greatest rival, she begins plotting her path to freedom. Nothing and no one will ever control her again. Not her degrading past, and certainly not her growing attraction to a man reputed to be an even crueler master than Garnath.

  Robert Demeresna is instantly suspicious of such a generous gift. Yet she comes to him armed with only her sharp mind—a potent weapon he can use to defend his people from the enemy. And underneath, an unbreakable spirit that besieges the walls of his heart.

  Slowly, Robert chips away at Alex’s defenses, striking sparks that make her begin to believe even a lowly whore like her could be worthy of him. Until Garnath springs a trap so cleverly hidden, war is unleashed before either of them sees it coming. A new kind of war fought with steam engines, explosives—and magic with a killing edge…

  Warning: Contains violence, steam engines, steamier sex and multiple explosions of the unstable chemical variety.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Before the Storm:

  At the end of the passage, Robert was in a window seat, looking down over the crude fortifications, but he turned to see her.

  “Come and sit.” He swung his leg off the window seat to make room for her. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Everything’s fine.” As fine as it could be under the circumstances. Alex felt awkward, because the window seat was short enough that she would be very close to Robert, but her body had already moved to obey and she seated herself.

  “Not everything, or you wouldn’t have come looking for me. What is it?”

  Now that Alex
was closer, she saw the tired lines on his face and knew he had enough to worry about without her adding to it. But she couldn’t just sit in silence, and the polite meaningless chatter that had come to her so easily in Stephen’s castle was out of place here.

  “I agree with Susanna about one thing,” she said. “We can’t win even a war of attrition, and if we flee to the Mistmarch, all Stephen has to do is to cut our supply lines and wait for winter. Then he could walk in and pick the skeletons clean.”

  Robert sighed. “We can’t win any war, Alex. We don’t have the numbers. The Benevolent Ones favor large armies—I learned that much from my history lessons.”

  “So you think we could all die?”

  “I think that’s a distinct possibility, but one I’d like to forestall for as long as possible.” He did not look either terrified or bitter, and when he raised an eyebrow, it was an almost teasing gesture. “Is this how you imagined your life might end, fighting a battle with a band of renegades?”

  Alex nearly smiled. “Renegade” was not a word she would ever have applied to Robert. “This isn’t too bad. How did you think you would die?”

  “Oh, in bed at the age of eighty, with a big family clustered around me, bickering over who got what in my will. And from time to time, I’d hold my breath and stare at the roof, wait a minute and then sit up yelling, ‘Praise the gods, I’m still alive!’ until my family got so tired of it that they would hit me with a poker just to end the farce.”

  That time she laughed—it was preposterous and funny and so much what she had come to expect from Robert. For a moment she could forget about the battle and the fact that he would die in the trampled, bloody mud outside Fulmion, if he was lucky.

  “You’re a morbid woman,” Robert said, “giggling at a deathbed scene.”