Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition

by Michelle M. Pillow

  * * *

  Ualan decided he had enough silence to last him a lifetime—even if he hadn’t been ordered by his father to make things right before the feast. A warrior did not avoid battle and the time for strategic planning was over. His wife would come around and accept her role, he would see to that.

  Unfortunately, standing with his hands on his hips, Ualan could see his slave did not feel the same way. She looked as if she would be perfectly content to keep lounging on his couch, staring at the round fire as if he didn’t exist. Morrigan still dressed as a servant, her hair tied into a knotted bun at the nape of her neck. He grimaced, hating the style, for it kept the locks from readily falling into his fingers.

  He knew she kept the uniform as a silent protest against him, since he had not decreed that she should continue to wear it and her own clothes were in the closet, untouched in her bag. The uniform was clean and pressed, but he wished for a moment she would let him buy her the fine dresses of a lady. In the village, the seamstress had many bolts of cloth that would fit her coloring better. With a wicked smile, he acknowledged that it would also fit his very masculine desires to see her better attired—or not attired at all.

  Ualan knew the moment she detected his presence by the way her breathing deepened then caught and held. There was also the telltale quickening of the pulse in her slender neck. If he focused his dragon hearing, he would be able to detect the rhythm drumming in his ear. He reluctantly admired her determination. She was a stubborn woman. From what he had seen in the past, most wives would have complained at the neglect, being forced to endure days of isolation and silence.

  “Enough,” he grumbled in displeasure. “I will have no more of your silence, slave.”

  “Would you rather I yell at you, caveman?” Her eyes flashed with heat and Ualan thought maybe silence was more golden than speaking. “Or just slit your throat while you sleep?”

  Ualan, who had been tempted to form a smile, quickly scowled. Darting forward with supernatural speed to where she sat on the couch, he took her throat into his palms and squeezed. Morrigan gasped in surprise at the unexpected attack, but held perfectly still, refusing to show fear. Ualan did not take the life from her throat, but he knew he had the power in his single hand to do so.

  “You dare to threaten your husband?” The dangerous gold of the dragon would be in his gaze, no matter how he tried to hide it. Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as she detected it.

  Gritting her teeth, she ground out, “How many times do I have to tell you, cav—ugh!”

  Ualan tightened his grip, cutting of her words and part of her air supply. Her knot unraveled at the gesture, as if it hadn’t been that secure to begin with. Silken strands of her dark hair spilled over his hands as she struggled. She clawed her fingernails into his arm, trying to draw blood but merely scratching the surface. He shook her once more. When she stiffened, flinching in fear, he loosened his hold. “Call me that again, wife, and I will have your head. I have dealt with your insolence, but no more. Do you understand? I will have obedience and order in my home.”

  Morrigan’s lips trembled. Foolishly, she slapped his face, yelling, “I am not your wif—”

  The hand tightened. He didn’t even wince as the sting of her hand imprinted on his face. “Do you understand?”

  When he didn’t let go, Morrigan quickly nodded, though her eyes shot daggers. The hand softened, releasing her.

  Morrigan pulled back, gasping and feeling her throat for injury. It was fine. He would never cause her real physical harm.

  Ualan narrowed his eyes and considered what he should do.

  Taking several more breaths, she muttered, “I am not your wife, ca—” She stopped herself in time. “I’m your slave. You made that clear.”

  Her words lacked the fire of conviction as her widened eyes stared at him.

  Unknowingly, she pulled him to her. Not with hands, but silently beckoning all the same. Ualan’s gaze was summoned to her throat by the tips of her angered nerves. He saw the pink mark of his hand on her and was instantly sorry for it. Closing his eyes, he leaned to lightly kiss where his hand had been so rough, his lips naturally seeking to soothe her ache. She stiffened, as if waiting for another attack.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he murmured to the corner of her parted lips. “But you could be killed for threatening the life of…your master.” He had been about say “a prince”, but thought better of it. “I should have handled myself better. For that you have my apologies.”

  Morrigan held very still. Her pulse beat violently but her voice was calm. “I didn’t mean to slap you. I was scared. I’m not a murderer. I would never kill anyone. I know I have a temper, but I am not completely to blame. You have put me in an unfair position.”

  “I am the one person you should never fear,” he whispered, softly brushing his lips along hers. It was a delicate truce and he was almost afraid to move lest he damage it. He didn’t point out that she was the one who had put herself in this position. She was too agreeable now for him to risk enraging her.

  “You’re the one person I do fear,” she said, her lips turning to speak against his. Her voice was whispery, as if in a trance. She sucked his breath into her mouth, and he felt the connection deepen. The truth rolled out of her unhampered. “You keep me prisoner.”

  Ualan sighed. Her words hurt because he knew them to be true. She did fear him. How could he blame her? Every time she yelled, he yelled back, or much worse, he teased her into horrific, unrealizable passion and left her wanting.

  Ualan understood what she was doing. She unconsciously tried to feel inside him as he felt inside her, to build the connection that would join their emotions together as only a wife and husband could. It would allow her to read his feelings, and with enough practice, she could read parts of his mind. He wasn’t ready for her to connect, not like this, not with the rift between them. Ualan could not allow her to feel his vulnerability toward her. If she did, he would be lost. She would know how to manipulate and control him. He had no doubt that this woman of his would do so mercilessly. If she got her way and figured out how to leave him, he would be damned to walk the rest of his long years alone.

  “You keep yourself prisoner,” he said. “Say you are my wife and you will get your freedom. My home will be your home.” He couldn’t keep his kiss from forming against her mouth. “My world, your world.” Another kiss. “My bed….” This time he kissed her deeply, searing her, probing her, leaving him unable to finish the words.

  * * *

  Morrigan had tensed when Ualan walked into the room, momentarily surprised when he hadn’t continued past her as he had been wont to do the last several days. She knew he was giving her temper time to cool and possibly punishing her with the silent treatment. What he didn’t seem to understand was that she had navigated the stars for months at a time by herself with only a computer to talk to. Three days was nothing. She could hold out for a year. She’d done it before.

  Blast it all, he smelled so good. It had been so hard the last several days. After he left her in the tub, she had stayed there for nearly an hour, panting, raging, crying, plotting his death in a hundred different ways. Her whole body craved him, more than the wanderlust, more than the adventure of traveling to distant galaxies. If he would just relent his stubborn ways…

  Morrigan breathed heavily, knowing she should push him away, but she instead concentrated on discovering what the source of the weird power floating around her senses was. She let him kiss her for the moment. A fog overcame her like with the glowing crystal, connecting them, allowing them to sense each other. She didn’t know how, but she could almost feel his heartbeat reverberate slowly in her chest. It was like she could feel his desire for her, not just the desire he stirred in her.

  He trailed kisses along her jaw, light and airy. Morrigan bit her lip to keep from crying out, forever tormented by what he did to her. She knew he would stop before she found pleasure. Hadn’t he always? But that faint hope inside her
told her to wait, that maybe, just maybe he’d finish it this time.

  Feeling the power of him, the steady control, did something to her sanity. Her insides melted and her head felt faint. When she looked into his eyes, she saw longing in him. Or did she see it? Morrigan peeked at him. No, his expression gave nothing away but more kisses.

  Closing her eyes, the wave of his desires again filtered through her. He leaned over her, trapping her beneath him without touching beyond his mouth. His hands braced his weight on either side of her waist. She didn’t move, frozen stiff as he gently brushed feathery caresses over the skin, comforting the dull ache of his earlier anger. Her trembling fingers reached for his face where her handprint still glared. She’d hit him much harder than he’d grabbed her. Morrigan sensed that his anger had surprised him, just as her anger had surprised her.

  Suddenly, an electrifying rush of emotions flooded her. She couldn’t process them all.

  “What…?” Morrigan questioned, pulling back from him both physically and mentally. She blinked several times. The connection broke and the fog lifted.

  “Don’t…” he started to say, but it was too late. The sensation was gone.

  “I cannot be a wife, Ualan. Even if I wanted to stay here, I can’t. I have a home of my own, friends, a job I’m good at. What would you have me do? Stay and be a housewife? I can’t do it. My life would be hell and so would yours. Besides, you’re so young and…” she almost said handsome but hesitated.

  His brow rose, as if knowing the word even though it went unspoken. “These duties can be learned. In fact, you will start training immediately with Mirox.”

  “What?” Morrigan stiffened. All traces of tender feelings, save for the more erotically charged, were severed between them. “Do you even listen when I talk to you?”

  “I listen, Morrigan,” he said softly with a smile that was all devil. “But your words make no sense. You will be a wife to me, make no mistake. Your honor is of utmost concern for it will reflect on mine. So even if you don’t take your vows to me seriously, I do.”

  Morrigan gasped.

  Ualan stood. His cock was still heavy in his pants but he acted like he didn’t even notice. Morrigan couldn’t look away. It was eye level with where she sat. Finally, she pried her eyes from his crotch and looked up at him. He insolently winked at her and then strode up the stairs to his bedroom.

  “Caveman,” she hissed under her breath, making sure the word was too quiet for him to hear.

  Chapter 15

  “I understand now, my lady, why you have enslaved yourself,” Mirox said with a severe nod as he showed her how to sweep the floor with a broom. She was anything but an enthusiastic student, and he caught her eyes rolling and wandering more often than not. At least the broom contraption was easier than sweeping with her apron on her hands and knees. He chose to politely ignore her ill humor.

  If she didn’t know about cleaning before, she definitely knew about it now and she hated it with an even greater passion. She had no idea that dust collected on so many things, so very fast. In her opinion, it was hardly worth bothering. It was to the point where she was almost grateful she couldn’t leave the house, because Mirox had to call several maids in to tend to the laundry and to beat the fur rugs in a different part of the complex. Those were more chores she really didn’t want to learn how to do. If she was going to beat anything it was going to be her captor with the broom handle.

  “I apologize for not understanding it before,” Mirox continued. “It is a noble sacrifice you make. You honor your husband’s name and make the Draig people proud.”

  Morrigan gave the man a quizzical look. What was he babbling on about? He didn’t speak to her for days. The three days of silence shouldn’t have been a problem for her. She’d gone much longer without conversation. Yet this situation felt different. She was confused—not about a story, but about a man. She found she needed a friend to talk to—anyone who wasn’t a seven foot tall barbarian with the sexiest blue eyes, and the firmest… Argh! She was doing it again.

  “It must be hard to indenture yourself on a new planet and not be able to have anyone talk to you,” Mirox continued, handing the broom over.

  “You’re talking to me.” Morrigan made quick work of the floor, glaring at the marble the entire time, hating it for being dirty.

  Mirox scratched the scar on his nose, again not giving her ill humor any mind. Moving to sit on the stairs, he pushed out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. He watched her work.

  “I was granted permission to speak so that I may instruct you,” he answered happily. “It is a great honor for me to have been asked.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled sarcastically under her breath. Teaching her to clean up after her caveman lord—great honor. “So that’s why you have been ignoring me? Because you had to?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Rigan is fine,” she said absently, before angling the broom at him. “All right, this is finished. What next?”

  Mirox tried to hide his amusement. He pointed to the water bucket. “Mop.”

  Morrigan contemplated dumping it on his head. Instead, she brought it to him without comment. He smiled. When she set it on the floor, he explained, “I must address you according to your rank, my lady.”

  “My rank?” Morrigan whirled around to study him.

  He nodded.

  She narrowed her eyes, willing him to explain. When he didn’t, she prompted, “So I have a rank? What? Am I nobility? Do I have a formal title? Is it a military thing?”

  Mirox avoided answering as he plunged into a long explanation of the fine points of mopping. Morrigan was soon distracted as she worked up a sweat, tediously sliding the mop where she had swept moments before.

  “This really is hell,” she muttered when Mirox wandered off to the kitchen to switch out the mop water for her. “Ualan’s gods have a strange sense of humor putting me as his wife.”

  “My lady?” Mirox called, not hearing her.

  “I think these floors are done. We don’t need more water,” she yelled back.

  * * *

  “I quit right now,” Morrigan said firmly, eyeing the toilet. “I did not spend six months dredging through the Luxes mudlands to clean that. Haven’t you ever heard of a space-port? They clean themselves, you know. It’s why we call it social advancement.”

  Ualan chuckled, hiding around the corner of the bathroom as he listened to his wife and Mirox fight. Mirox had diplomatically reported that she was a stubborn one, never complaining—well grumping, but not complaining. Ualan had translated that to mean she was refusing to do anything at all and expected to see Mirox strung up by his toes over the fire pit with his furniture ripped to shreds. He’d actually been pleasantly surprised to find his house in such great shape.

  “My lady,” Mirox tried to sound reasonable, but Ualan heard the irritation in the man’s tone.

  “No,” she stated darkly. “I’ve done everything else that you have asked me to. I’m tired. You can tell your lord to…”

  Ualan smiled as he came around the corner to look at her. Her face flushed red in embarrassment but she quickly caught herself. Even disheveled, she was beautiful.

  Mirox bowed instantly, “My lord.”

  “Mirox,” Ualan returned. “Why don’t we let the slave take a break? She is looking rather worn.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Mirox bowed, moving to leave. “I will be back in the morning, my lady.”

  When they heard the door closing behind the man, Morrigan frowned. “Don’t do me any favors, master.”

  To Ualan’s surprise, she grabbed the toilet brush and started furiously scrubbing the porcelain bowl. Hiding his laugh, he shrugged his shoulder and left her to her work. His wife had spirit, he’d give her that.

  When she came out of the bathroom nearly an hour later, Ualan was sitting on the couch with a book. To his surprise, he saw her eye it with interest. Then, catching him watching her, she turned her attention away as if she did
n’t care.

  “It’s a theoretical account about my ancestors, put together by historical scholars. Would you like to see it?” he asked softly, angling it toward her in hopes of a truce. It was not to be.

  “I can’t read your accursed language, master,” she snarled. “And I have no wish to learn.”

  Ualan sighed. It seemed “master” was taking the place of “caveman”. Her lie was obvious. She had a curiosity that ran deep. He saw it in her eyes as well as felt it in her. He kept himself closed to her. He’d tried to open up to her before but that had not gone well. She couldn’t take the rush of himself he had given her. It was too much too soon.

  “I know you’re interested, Rigan.” He motioned for her to sit next to him. “Take the book. I’ll teach you to read it.”

  He might as well have offered to give her the blue plague. Ualan almost cringed at her heated look, though he should have expected it. She was beautiful when she was angry. Part of him believed that with enough commanding he could wear her down. It worked on the warriors he and his brothers ruled, and she was as stubborn as any Draig solider.

  “I don’t want to read your stupid book,” she denied, though her gaze did dip to it again. “I don’t want anything to do with you, master.”

  Unable to help himself, he gave her a seductive smile. Morrigan inhaled deeply. She might try to hide it, but she wanted a lot to do with him.

  “Oh,” she huffed, turning away to walk back to the bathroom. “You are the most incorrigible…”

  The rest of her insult was lost in a mumble. Ualan chuckled, secretly glad he didn’t have to hear the full brunt of her words.

  * * *

  Morrigan should have locked the bathroom door. She knew she should have, but the water of the natural spring was too inviting and by the time she remembered it she was already soaking in the tub and it was too late. Now Ualan was standing in front of her, his eyes narrowed in unabashed interest.