Beastly Passion

by Renee Field

  Geirsson’s lineage was pure. He was from an ancient dragon warrior line and they had given up the most in her mother’s quest to start the blue diamond. His reward, once Maeja became queen, was to become her captain-at-arms. He was her shadow that always walked beside her to keep her safe from Castra’s factions that would see her killed, all to end trade with the humans. They did not realize that to trade with the humans they had to look the part.

  Reverting to the old ways, becoming the beasts they once were would destroy their world. Worse, the minute humans saw a real dragon they would fire one of those nuclear bombs on them within five minutes.

  Kill me, and Castra will get annihilated and then there won’t be any dragons left.

  Chapter Two

  “I think you should see the witch,” said Geirsson, his eyes penetrating her.

  “Oh, for the love of the Blessed Jeweled Scribes, I thought we had already talked that discussion to death.”

  “She said something that…well, I think you should see her and hear her out.”

  “No.”

  Geirsson grasped her shoulders. “Maeja, I felt the cold.”

  She turned sharp eyes up at him. “The cold?”

  “There are rumblings. Others are feeling it. That can mean only one thing.”

  “Do not even suggest it, Geirsson. It is nothing. I did not feel anything.” She fought against the tremor of the lie that rolled black and thick off her tongue.

  “Really. Then I am mistaken, my lady.”

  Instead of releasing her, he brushed his body up against hers on purpose. His amber eyes burned as they looked at her, knowing she had misled him. Then something entirely animalistic and instinctive flew to life within Maeja. She advanced, homing in on the smidgen of space that separated them until they were chest to chest. Her naked feet stood pale against his hard-worn leather sandals. Her nostrils flared with desire, the blue of her eyes shifting to match his amber ones—the change, fierce in its intensity, dominated her. Inwardly, Maeja cringed and shook with the shock of what was happening to her once again. But she could not stop herself. She pushed her chest into his, letting her sensitive nipples scrape his leather vest. Her jeweled hands went to his shoulders, her nails digging deep…setting her demands, trapping her to him in the ancient way.

  “No dragonese. We are done with that time, Geirsson. We must advance as a race and as a world. That is how it must be.”

  She knew he wanted to shake his head, but her nails had instinctively gripped and pinched his neck muscles—paralyzing him. Until her claws retracted he was immobile. Her prisoner. At her mercy. The realization that she was asserting her dominant dragon nature came to her as sharp as a diamond’s edge.

  Standing on her toes, she brushed her body up his, taking delight in the feel of the leather buttons scraping over her achy nipples. Her tongue, thick with a strange desire, languidly slid across his neck in a bold caress of want. One hand reached to span his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back. Submissive. Waiting. Accepting. This was their way. The pose as old as Castra’s birth brought lava heat to her core. She felt Geirsson’s large Adam’s apple constrict. His eagerness for her to take the second step originated from his body’s swift change in temperature and the pheromones he instinctively released. He desired her. Worse, she wanted him.

  The timing for this was not good. She was booked solid all day dealing with Earth diplomats and trade ambassadors. Most certainly Maeja knew she did not have time for a good fuck.

  “My lady…your bath is ready.”

  Her maid’s cool voice broke the spell. The realization of what Maeja had done caused her to quake. I must be coming down with something. What is happening to me? Forcing calm, she retracted her claws without thought and freed Geirsson.

  He immediately grasped her arms. The punishment for touching her was death, but it had already been breached earlier. This time there was a witness. Maeja noted her servant’s eyes widened in shock and her hiss of utter disbelief spurred Geirsson into action. He leaned into Maeja, his hot, tantalizing breath a husky wind against her sensitive ear.

  “I will send my best to you tonight, my lady.”

  He released her. Geirsson crossed both arms over his chest, bowed low and left without a second glance or another word. Not until the door shut behind him and her servant did Maeja dare take a breath. A cold shiver of goose bumps glistened to life on her skin. With the sunlight streaking through the south window the bumps looked eerily as if shiny scales skimmed to life on her arms. For a moment the longing to fully shift again, into what she was, blossomed deep within her. However, Maeja was not a fickle queen. What she passed as law for her people she also willingly embraced.

  I will not succumb again. I will not allow my desires to take control. I must leash the dragon within me.

  She gathered the material closer to her body and admitted to herself the desire to fully become a dragon was a thought that rushed through her mind more than she wanted. A small chime announced the hour, reminding her of the two human trade ambassadors she had to meet today. All thoughts of what she was—a dragon queen—had to be shelved.

  Bravely, she tossed aside the sheet she had been using as her shield to boldly walk into the adjoining washing room, welcoming the sharp, ice-cold water. Closing her eyes, Maeja hoped the pinpricks of discomfort would quell the throb of desire that raced through her body and thoughts.

  Castra cannot get cold. The blue diamond must not fail. Cold meant certain death for her people. Five hundred years ago during her mother’s reign that was exactly what they had lived through. Castra’s Ice Age. Only the strong dragons had survived, some through hibernation, others through ice-cold daily turmoil. She would never forget their plight. She had lived that life and had vowed never to let the cold invade her planet again.

  It took decades before their scientists had been able to harness the proper energy to create a communication rocket. They had combined gemstones with harmonic diamonds that originated deep within Castra’s core and launched a rocket through space.

  The announcement of their plan had been met with condemnation by those rural, opposing factions, who viewed scientists as evil slayers of their way of life. But after thousands of years as nomadic beings, dragons had naturally evolved, almost patterning human evolution. Some grouped together to form small cities equipped with open-air markets. Buildings were erected to house libraries, schools for the draka­­­­­­­­­—young dragons—were created, and commercial business emerged. Trade with other dragon communities evolved.

  Maeja knew in her heart of hearts—an expression only a dragon truly understood because they had one large heart with a second, smaller vessel tucked inside. Her mother had made the correct choice.

  Humans, Maeja knew, liked viewing their beasts in mythology, folklore and legend but they would not be so kind to Castra if they realized this was a planet dominated by majestic powerful dragons.

  Washing quickly, Maeja rose. She donned the fashionable black leather outfit set out for her and braided her long black hair with the practiced ease of three hundred years of ritual. As a last thought she stuck three large crystal-clear diamonds in her hair. Dressed and properly bejeweled she inhaled deeply, seeking the calm she needed to once again compose herself.

  The jewels would catch the eyes of the human trade ambassadors she had to meet today. She always wore them when meeting with humans. Earth provided them with technology and computers. Castra gave the humans fossil fuels they desperately needed to power their planet and precious gems and jewels that made up their planet’s core. Maeja viewed it as a fair trade arrangement. Without Earth technology they would not have their modern comforts, including the heat that sailed through their homes thanks to the solar and wind computer technology the humans had shared with them. The luxury of heat was not something she would willingly give up ever again.

  Her eyes froze when she saw what was on the north window. There, nestled in the right-hand corner was frost. Maeja’s dragon-hea
rt hiccupped on a beat as the stark realization of Geirsson’s foreboding words ground her to a momentary halt. No! It was not possible.

  Flinging open the chamber door, she jogged down the hall until she came to the lower floor where the witch was held. Marching straight toward the holding cell, she vowed then and there to get answers. One way or another she would find out what was happening and then she would put a stop it. She was queen. Her word was law. She would make the threat go away.

  With those confident thoughts echoing in her head, she heard the guard unlock the cell. Maeja wished she could lock the cascading swirl of turbulent emotions away with the ease of a key. Hoping the sex she had tonight would be her quick fix, she plastered a serene smile on her face as she strolled in to confront the dragon-witch, not caring she was doing exactly as Geirsson had asked.

  * * * * *

  Geirsson placed his forehead against the hard, cold stone wall. He sought relief. His cock throbbed and pulsed with unquenched desire. He reeled with the insatiable urge to run back inside Maeja’s private quarters and take what he knew she desperately needed. His arms flexed, there was a metallic glitter like crystalline ice as his dragon scales shimmered to life on his arms. He gasped and struggled against the change she had unknowingly thrown his body cycle into. He knew she would not give in to what her body demanded. She hated what she could become. But he had also sensed she had shifted into her dragon form and that had terrified her. The beasts they were always sought the freedom they were denied. If it took her three hundred years for this to happen then so be it. Mark my words though, I will be the one she seeks.

  “The guards are ready.”

  Stavor walked in and interrupted Geirsson’s daydream of exactly where he longed to place his cock. “Stavor, your wings. Get rid of them.” A flush of embarrassed red flashed across his young face.

  Immediately, Geirsson was sorry for his harsh words but the draka had to learn self-control. Especially if he wanted to survive this night.

  “Sorry. Guess I got carried away. This will be my first time,” said Stavor, clenching and unclenching his hands as he fidgeted on the balls of his feet with nervous energy. That too Geirsson understood.

  Geirsson pulled the tie free from his hair, hating the restriction it imposed on his strands. He grunted and raked a hand through his hair. Effortlessly, Stavor managed to force the change and get rid of his dragon wings all within the blink of an eye. For a Razor Dragon, Stavor was fast.

  “I can’t believe we get to change.”

  Fear, awe and disbelief echoed in Stavor’s words.

  “Only if you do not get caught. This is not a game.” Well, okay, it was but the pubescent Dragonbane warrior did not need that ammunition.

  “If we’re caught she’ll kill us, right?”

  Geirsson closed the ground separating the two of them. He liked the young warrior but sometimes he over-examined things and that was not necessarily a good trait in a battle. “No, Stavor. If you get caught I will personally kill you.”

  “Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” said Stavor, sliding out of Geirsson’s reach with ease.

  Stavor made a hasty retreat but Geirsson could have sworn he heard him whistling under his breath. He was excited and Geirsson could not blame him.

  Once a year, Geirsson allowed his warriors a night of freedom. He personally gave them permission to change into their dragon forms to fly the night skies. It went against Maeja’s law. He knew it was something Maeja would never accept. His warriors had to allow their beasts freedom because the consequences for keeping those animals inside—leashed tight—were unacceptable. To be a Dragonbane warrior, always on guard against the latest faction vying to take over the throne, you had to be part beast. It was the only way to scent the enemy before they spotted you.

  Geirsson wished Maeja could see him as he truly was—a mighty Frost Dragon, with eight-foot wings that glittered silver. His fire was ice blue, hot and cold as need be and he was the only Frost Dragon he knew of. Stavor, while a tall warrior in human form, became a small four-foot Razor Dragon, equipped with razor-sharp talons and a lethal tail. Of his thirteen warriors who formed the Elite Dragonbane Captain’s guard most were common Dragonbane warriors. Only Valdason, the soldier he had personally recruited two years ago, was different. Found fighting in a rogue faction, Geirsson had watched the draka move like the wind in battle. However, Valdason would not be joining them tonight. He never did. Said it wasn’t worth it.

  “Are you still going through with it?”

  Geirsson wasn’t surprised at Valdason’s appearance. The warrior had an uncanny knack of showing up when Geirsson was thinking of him. “Yes. Why don’t you join us?”

  Valdason shook his head. “I fixed your axe.”

  He handed the double-bladed axe to Geirsson and left without a word. Later, Geirsson vowed to say his personal thanks. The polished razor-sharp axe blade had been crafted with Valdason’s dragon’s fire and that would be a first for the silent warrior.

  Tonight Geirsson’s beast would reign free. The event always took place after the Harvest Ball. It was something all his warriors had eagerly come to anticipate and they were grateful all year for this one night of leniency. What a sad state of affairs that we have to do this in secret to ensure Maeja does not find out.

  Geirrson wondered if Maeja knew the consequences of her actions this morning. He recalled vividly the smell of her sex and how her dominant stand had tantalized him. Not that he planned to be the submissive one. She might think he was that sort because of her royal status but when he slid his cock inside her molten-hot pussy there would be no doubt about who dominated whom. She might be his queen but in the bedroom she would become his sex slave.

  * * * * *

  Maeja waved the guard away. Standing safely on the outside of the dragon-witch’s cell, she asked, “Who are you?”

  “It matters naught who I am…what matters is what is to become of Castra.”

  “You talked that prattle of rubbish last night when you stormed in, causing a scene during my ball.”

  The witch unfurled her small, aging body. Gracefully she moved to the other side of the bars so that they could face each other. Maeja knew she was an ancient dragon-witch and for a moment she wondered how old this woman was. A small red birthmark marred her right cheek, but otherwise she still wore the guise of elegance inherent to their elders.

  “My words should be heeded. The blue diamond will fail. It is failing. You must revert to the days of old.”

  A cold fury knotted around Maeja’s heart. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing calm.

  “Already you have felt it, but mark my words it will only get worse. And you, you must allow the thrall to happen. That is the only way you will conceive and save Castra in the process.”

  Maeja choked and gave in to the urge to wring her hands with annoyance. “The thrall. You are crazy. None of our kind undergo the thrall anymore. I forbade it. It does not happen. We are civilized.”

  “Civilized!” The word was spat at Maeja. “We are dragons…and you are killing us. You are the last of your dynasty and with your fall Castra will be destroyed. You, and you alone, are responsible for what will befall us. The blue diamond is dying. See for yourself.”

  Dragon-swift, the witch grasped Maeja’s hand through the small iron bar opening. The vision stole oxygen from Maeja’s lungs. It stormed through her mind with shocking intensity. There, nestled deep within the bowels of Castra, pulsed the blue diamond, but instead of its harmonics whispering a steady throb of power, it sputtered. Its ice-blue glow faded with each shuddering beat she felt to the core of her being.

  “No!” Maeja shrieked, yanking her hand from the witch. It took a lot of strength to accomplish that task and that unnerved Maeja. She was queen and her power was essential to her continued years on the throne.

  “You know I showed you the truth. That is exactly what will happen to Castra. But you can fix it.”

  “Fix it?” Maeja blinked and stu
ffed her hands in her leather jacket for warmth and safety. She vowed not to fidget or wring her hands again in the presence of her enemy.

  “If I tell you how to fix it, you must grant my request.”

  Still smarting from the vision, Maeja attempted to reassert her control. This is becoming a terrible morning, she thought. “You are not in a position to negotiate, witch.”

  “Maeja, it would appear I am. I am the only one with dragon-sight and the only one who can tell you how to save Castra. I would not have wasted my breath if I did not want you and your lineage to remain on the throne.”

  Maeja sucked in her breath. Her heart skipped a beat with the dragon-witch’s words. She did not trust the witch but she ached to learn more.

  “Why would you want to help me?” Maeja asked, hating that she had to.

  The dragon-witch assessed her and once again Maeja forced herself to stand tall, her gaze unblinking.

  “You do not remember me.”

  The statement was not what Maeja expected. “Should I?”

  A laugh, the sound of crystals breaking, caused Maeja to shiver. “Your mother would not be pleased by that answer but it does not surprise me.”

  “You knew my mother?” asked Maeja, a kernel of hope flaring to life within her. Maeja recalled only snippets of her life with her mother. She had been too busy saving their race to deal with a draka, or more precisely to deal with her.

  “Close your eyes, Maeja, and scent me. You know how to do it.”

  What the dragon-witch asked of her she could not allow. It was an old tradition and most of those Maeja had ridiculed.

  “I will not tell anyone if that is what worries you. Scent me to know the truth of my words,” said the witch.

  It was on the tip of Maeja’s tongue to tell the dragon-witch that if she spoke dragonese she would know the validity. Dragons were incapable of lying when speaking the ancient language of their race.

  Chapter Three

  She was queen and had to get some answers. Sighing with annoyance, Maeja closed her eyes, letting her beast vault to the surface. After what had happened to her that morning it was hard to keep the change at bay. For one dreaded heartbeat she had the urge to open her eyes to see if scales shimmered to life on her skin. She hoped they did not.