Dragon Enchanted

by Isadora Montrose

  Which left her only the less sure method of stealing the ring from his sleeping hand. She would watch and when he fell asleep she would bespell him. Then, while he was safely dreaming, she would take her ring. He could find his own bride. The only peril was that she would have to do so as an elf. Owls had no hands. But she would send him a deep sleep from which no mortal could awaken himself.

  And to make doubly sure, she would make herself invisible.

  She found him easily. Even though he had a little round tent, Marc Valli liked to sleep under the stars. Remembering that he had said he had seen her watching him, she made herself invisible before she approached him.

  He took a long time to fall asleep. He tossed around like a boat in a high sea, opening and closing his sleeping sack until she was dizzy from trying to follow his movements. But at last he was lying on his back with his eyes closed. And then his breathing slowed. He slept. The moonlight shone on his face.

  Truly he looked like a young Balder. The god of love and peace was a beautiful youth, but no more beautiful than Marc Valli. His features were even and his beard golden in the moonlight. His shoulders were broad and his chest hairless. A tattoo of a dragon swirled over his right shoulder. When she approached Marc Valli’s sleeping form, the dragon’s blue eyes opened and stared right at her.

  She was frightened, but desperation made her carry on with her scheme. At least Marc Valli’s arms lay outside the sleeping sack. The dragon tattoo watched her closely. Flames flickered around its nostrils. It’s only a tattoo, she told herself as she flitted down to stand on his chest. Only your imagination that those eyes are following you.

  She raised her lance and uttered her sleeping spell. The tattoo closed its eyes. Long black lashes like Marc Valli’s lay on its grim cheekbones. Marc Valli began to snuffle softly. She zipped along his left arm right down to his hand. Her ring winked at her.

  Why had he put it on that finger? The finger that connected straight to his heart? Hers was beating like a wild thing caught in a net. She bent over his hand and touched her ring. Its power called to her. Made her stronger. Come to me, she commanded silently.

  Nothing.

  She straddled his hand and tugged at the ring. It barely moved. Her tears rolled down her face and wet the ring. She yanked harder. The hand she was straddling turned and caught her. She held onto the ring for dear life and commanded it once more. Suddenly she was flying through the air.

  The hand caught her again. The ring spun out of her hands and up. It landed on her head, widened and slipped over her hair and down her face to land on her shoulders around her throat.

  “What have we here?” boomed Marc Valli. He brought her up to his nose. “What the heck?”

  “Unhand me, Dragon.” She was dismayed that her voice came out as a high-pitched squeal rather than the authoritative tones of an elven princess addressing a monster.

  He laughed. “Princess Zofie, I assume? I claim you, Princess, by right of capture.”

  No sooner had the words left his lips than the ring drew close around her neck. She pulled at it, but it was stuck fast. Not choking her, but unmoving. A collar she could not remove.

  “What have you done, Marc Valli?” she whispered in anguish.

  “I think I’ve claimed my bride,” he said. He rubbed his face with his other hand. “I was dreaming. And then there you were.” He squinted at her and muttered. “Black hair. Black eyes. At least I think so. Clever. Not very. Beautiful. Perhaps. Too small to be more than cute. Learned. I don’t think so.”

  He relaxed his fist while he continued to enumerate what he plainly considered her dubious charms. “Probably not a virgin. Definitely not sweet-tempered. And certainly not in love with me.”

  She drew her lance and stabbed him as hard as she could. “How dare you insult me?” Suddenly she was free.

  He let her get as far as the trees before he held out his hand. “Come here, Zofie,” he said quietly.

  As if his hand were a magnet and she just so much iron, she flew through the air into his hand. He grasped her firmly. It didn’t hurt but she still trembled in his grip.

  “No more sticking me like a pincushion,” he said sternly. He showed her his left hand. Nine thistles bloomed on his palm. Eight from her claws, and one from her lance.

  Oh, thunder and lightning, what had she done? She had marked him with her elven mark. Great Thor. He was hers. Please, please, let him also be disenchanted.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Marc~

  Be careful what you wish for. Had he not been warned all his life to be wary of wishes, chary of magic? And what had he done? Foolishly, lightly, demanded to dream of his bride.

  One moment he had been wrapped in the warm and eager arms of a black-haired beauty, being kissed as if he were the answer to this woman’s every dream. Her rosy lips had been luscious, soft and enticing. She tasted of innocence, woman, and something for which his heart had been yearning his whole life.

  And then she had been naked against his naked body, squirming and pleading for his touch. Her breasts were full and heavy. Her hips round and supple. Her skin soft and sweet. Her sex fragrant, softer still, and wet. A dragon’s fantasy come to life.

  Her hands roved over his back and shoulders, down his chest. She found his dragon tat and kissed it. Discovered his cock and grasped it with both hands. Her soft giggle did not sound mocking, only amazed. He felt his cock grow longer in her hands. Thicker. She kissed the cap and whispered his name.

  He knew he had to pleasure her before he transformed her. A virgin would be tight even if she came before he entered her. But her kisses brought him to the brink. He covered her hands. Stopped her tender exploration.

  Tickled her wet and swollen pussy. Made her gasp and wriggle. Kissed her lips and put one finger in her. She gripped it like a fist. He made a tiny circle. She moaned and loosened her muscles. He played with her until she was damp and screaming. When she came she shouted his name as if he was a god. She made him feel like one.

  He raised her. “Now?” he asked in the silent language of dreams.

  “Now.” She gave him permission.

  He lowered her onto his dripping cock, slowly, one agonizing half-inch at a time. Her face was flushed and happy. He felt as if his must be one fierce grimace as he restrained his urgency. She squirmed, trying to make room to accommodate him. He gripped her waist, imploring her to be still.

  She giggled again. And pressed downward. That was all his oversensitive cock could handle. He flooded her. He bellowed his love. She whispered his name. And then he was sitting up holding a diminutive pixie in his fist.

  Could Thumbelina truly be his fated mate? Had he really claimed her? There was no going back on those ancient words. He saw his happy future turn to ashes as he gazed at a female with features too small to see clearly. A vicious creature who drew blood whenever she was crossed.

  “Who or what are you?” he demanded. Where the heck had his dream lover gone?

  “I am Princess Zofie, as you guessed.” Her voice was small and scared. “And I am an elf. The last of the elves.” The ring was glinting around her neck.

  “What have you done?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered. “Are you still a dragon?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I hoped,” she informed him. Her gauzy wings drooped. Her voice was sad and faint.

  “I hope not.”

  “You want to be a monster?”

  “I was born to fly. And I do not think of myself as a monster. We dragons are quite splendid in our way.”

  She wrung her hands. “Oh why, oh, why has Loki cursed me?”

  “Cursed you?”

  “All I wanted was to sail west. That’s all. I didn’t want a husband. I didn’t want a dragon. Look at you. Not even ashamed to be naked before me.”

  He hadn’t noticed that he had shaken off his sleeping bag and was standing in the wind waving his privates at a strange
female. He let her go while he stepped into his jeans. She didn’t go far. Just to the closest tree.

  His tattoo saw that for all her outraged words, she was examining him pretty closely. Women. Who could understand them? He added his shirt and sweater before he turned his attention back to her. “Is that as big as you get?” he asked.

  “No. I’m much larger when I am an owl.”

  “I’m not interested in an owl bride.”

  She sat down on her branch and crossed tiny arms over a bosom that looked too rounded for such a tiny person. “This isn’t going to work,” she said. “I wonder if I can shrink you.”

  “Please, don’t try. I have no desire to be elf-sized.”

  “I suppose an elf-sized dragon would be a contradiction.” She had been dressed head to toe in black. Now she waved her tiny arms and a scarlet gown blew around in the wind. Her head was suddenly topped by a halo of black curls threaded with gold. The ring blazed on her throat.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Transform your dress.”

  She shrugged. “I wanted to be sure I still could.” She plucked a silver needle from the air. “Are you sure you aren’t under a curse?”

  He wanted to pull his hair out by the roots. Of course he was cursed. He had vowed to take as his mate a female too small to screw. He was so fucked. “Everyone in my family is a dragon – at least on my father’s side. It’s not a curse. It’s a fricking blessing.”

  “You don’t have to shout at me,” she said huffily.

  He bowed ironically. “Forgive me, Princess. Perhaps you have a solution to our mutual problem?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zofie~

  Marc Valli rose with the sun, gathered his gear and left his camp. He was going off to play with those devil birds. As if betrothing himself to an elven princess was of no moment. As if the birds were more important than she was. Not that she considered herself in any way bound to that boor. As soon as she got this ring off her neck, she would never give him another thought.

  She tugged at the band. It didn’t hurt. But she couldn’t slip even the tip of one finger under it. She felt certain its presence on her neck symbolized his power over her. That was why when he summoned her she came. It was so unfair.

  Resentfully, Zofie watched Marc Valli leave. She had spent the night trying to remember if such a thing had ever happened before. Could a dragon truly have an elf-maid in his power? Even though she had her ring back? She was weary with thinking and vexed with the weight of her troubles. She was going to have to ask Loki for a vision.

  The Pool of Loki was her only hope. But the pool was a double-edged sword. It was there that her troubles had begun. How could she hope to see the truth in a vision, if Loki was enjoying her torment? Perhaps she could offer him the ring? If Loki’s pool held the ring she would be free of that annoying dragon.

  But she would also be forced to remain here on this island forever. Forever was a long time when you were immortal. But she could not marry a dragon. Or a giant. But who knew what Loki the Trickster God found amusing.

  She made her reluctant way to the Pool of Loki. It was a tidal pool on the shore closest to the mainland. A thousand years ago Misty Isle had been connected to the mainland. But with Odin’s aid she had raised a great storm and sunk the causeway of King Erriki to keep her trees safe from the men with axes.

  That same night, Odin had built a great fence of stones around the newly made island to pierce the hulls of the long ships and drown the impious men who dared to steal his trees. In a thousand years, no one but those foolish bird counters had set foot on the Misty Isles. Her trees – Odin’s trees – were tall and thick and only old age felled them.

  She had fended off men and beasts for many ages of men. Saved the trees from ax and tooth. She was weary of this task. And lonely. She wanted to rejoin the elves and make merry with her people. The elven court had been a place of song and dance, of bards who chanted, and skalds who recited the long and thrilling history of the elves. She wished once more to take her place in that joyful company.

  Today the pool was still and clear. Faintly greenish, despite the blue sky. Before she approached it, she clothed herself in green and gold to honor Odin who loved trees, and to remind Loki she was Odin’s faithful servant, and under the father god’s protection. She raised her lance and brought it down three times in invocation.

  She knelt and peered into the pool. What would it tell her today? The clear water did not change. It reflected the sky and the trees behind it. And her own face, unchanged from the days of Erriki the Elven King.

  Her cheeks and lips were rosy still. Her thick black curls were bound with gold ribbons. Her black eyes snapped under arched black brows. No matter what that oaf Marc Valli thought, she was beautiful. Even if her face and limbs were as round and sturdy as a dairymaid’s.

  She touched the ring that sparkled at her neck. The blue stones mocked her from the water. For all its splendor, the ring had become a slave collar. That dragon had claimed her as the accursed pirate Jörmungandr had claimed her cousin Lexi. Her only path to freedom was Marc Valli’s death. Yet she did not wish to see that bright beauty cold and lifeless.

  Beneath her reflection, the floor of the pool was smooth, bare rock. There was no sign of the offerings that had been made here for untold years. No visions appeared to her. Her magic had utterly failed. Tears rolled down her face and dropped into the water. Ripples spread.

  The pool began to boil with white mist. When the mist cleared, at the bottom of the pool she could see the heaps of broken gold that had been offered to Loki. Brooches, armbands, swords and axes glinted richly. In place of her reflection, she saw an enormous dazzling white building set on a hilltop.

  The palace sat in solitary grandeur. Tall white pillars and tall white steps made the people entering look unimportant. Its three green domes and windows of colored glass told her it was meant to impress. It must be the dwelling place of some mighty king. As if to answer her silent question, the vision showed her the tall oak doors opening.

  Rows of benches full of people faced the raised dais of some great lord or king. A broad aisle furnished with a crimson carpet ran down to the dais. An enormous round window sparkled with a rainbow of colors and patterned the king’s seat. The hall was as grand as it was beautiful.

  She floated above the seated crowd. The high walls were hung with many gorgeous banners, bright flowers, and objects of shining gold. Only the richest and greatest of kings could live in such pomp. A hush hung over the seated people as if they dared not speak in the king’s house.

  She held her breath as the king walked out of a carved door at the side of the dais. He gravely greeted his people with a raised hand. He wore dazzling white robes richly embroidered in crimson and gold. His tall crown was also crimson and gold. His face was as stern as if he was about to judge some affair of great importance.

  Standing before the dais, in two rows were twelve men wearing white clothes. Shining jewels blazed on their breasts. Swords hung by their sides. Without any signal, the crowd surged to its feet. Every mouth opened as if they were shouting or singing. She strained to hear, but the vision was silent. The twelve men drew their twelve shining swords and held them before their faces.

  A thirteenth man dressed much like the twelve, but with a larger display of jewels on his chest, turned and stared at the doors she had entered by. Thunder and lightning. It was Marc Valli. Or his double. Was he the king’s son?

  A woman, also dressed entirely in white, and completely veiled, advanced slowly and steadily down the aisle on the arm of a tall man wearing dark clothes. He towered above her. Zofie could only see her back. She looked small and lonely walking down the long red carpet toward those stern-faced men.

  Had she come to be judged by the king? Was the somberly clad man her jailer? The twelve raised their swords higher. Were they going to execute her here in this magnificent hall? Zofie gasped in horror. But they merely m
ade a glittering arch for the woman to walk beneath. Her jailer led her to Marc Valli and the king. Was Marc Valli then the woman’s accuser?

  She leaned forward to see better and dislodged a pebble. It fell into the pool. Ripples spread. The vision vanished. Zofie sank back on her heels. She asked forgiveness for disturbing the water, but the mists did not return.

  The vision was gone. And she was no wiser than when she had come. She could not see how witnessing the peculiar ceremonies of mortals could release her from bondage to the dragon. Just the same, she pulled a gold hairpin out of her hair and broke it into two pieces to make a respectful offering of thanksgiving.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Marc~

  She was asleep on his bedroll when he returned from the cliff. Curled up as if she did not have a care in the world. While he had barely been able to concentrate on his assignment while he racked his brains to find a solution to their dilemma.

  There wasn’t one. At least no honorable resolution. He and this tiny female were bound together by an ancient ring and the ancient vow of his race. Just saying the words had altered his feelings for the princess. Of course it had not made her any larger. But it had somehow made her dearer.

  He set his equipment down with a clatter that had her sitting up and covering her ears. She yawned like a cat in the sun and patted her mouth with one tiny hand. Her curls were disarrayed by her nap. His heart squeezed with tenderness at the sight of her.

  “Good afternoon,” he said.

  She stretched her arms and yawned again. “’Tis nearly evening. You were gone a long time.”

  “I had two days’ work to accomplish in one. Now I am tired and hungry and I need a bath.” If only there was such a thing on S385614.