Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet Book 2): 50 Loving States, North Dakota Pt. 2

by Theodora Taylor

  “A celebration?” Hwedo repeated. “A celebration for what?”

  Ao Quong tilted his head, slowly as drakkon are wont to do. “In truth, I am not sure,” he answered. “But perhaps we should shelve this topic and revisit it after we find out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  So that happened.

  This isn’t the first private drone ride I’ve taken. But it is the first time I’ve flown in a hypersonic drone wearing a robe, pajamas, and my narwhal slippers. Carrying a baby. And you know, sitting across from my fathers’ mortal enemy.

  I feel….

  Half-stunned. Half-what the hell did I just do?

  I can’t stop thinking about the look on my father’s faces before we flew away. So much fear…and disappointment.

  Were they right? Was I crazy to run away with him?

  The answers to those two questions come back clear and scary bright. Probably and Yes, Ola girl, you are definitely out your goddamn mind.

  Holding Bazzi close, I look toward the front of the drone where Damianos is. He’s sitting by himself in a throne seat so large and plush, it had to have been custom built to accommodate his extra-large size.

  He changed into a suit he pulled out of the drone’s closet after shifting back from his dragon. But his eyes…he must have lost his contacts somewhere along the way. They were now bright gold and glowing. Just like Other Damianos, only a little dimmer.

  In any case, sitting on his custom throne seat he looks exactly like what he is…a titan of both business and state.

  An unconquerable force.

  And it feels like he’s putting both literal and physical space between us on purpose. Showing me how larger than life he is and how small of an underdog I am.

  If not for the baby in my arms, I might have spent that whole plane ride in my own thoughts, silently regretting what I’ve done. But after a couple of hours of watching landforms zip by impossibly fast through the drone’s glass floor, I force myself to get up and approach him. He appears to be busy at work, using the throne seat tray table’s touchscreen. The device’s OLED light casts the sharp planes of his face in harsh shadows.

  Real Talk 100, it feels like walking up on a supervillain. No, Damianos deserves an upgrade after ripping his shackles off like they were paper and breaking through that translucent iron window. Megavillain. It feels like I’m walking up on a megavillain.

  But I’ve promised myself to this megavillain, so I take a deep breath and tell him, “The baby’s going to need something to eat whenever we get back to your place.”

  A hard beat of silence, then his eyes flicker down to our son, still peacefully snoozing away in my arms after having missed our great escape.

  That’s great for me, I figure. The last thing my current situation needs is a mad baby on top of it. But… “He’s going to be hungry when he wakes up. Can you make sure there’s formula for him wherever you’re taking us?” I ask Damianos.

  A beat of silence, then he closes his eyes and gets a look of concentration on his face I didn’t like.

  “Could you do it without brainwashing anybody, please?” I ask, weary face emojis floating up from my brain. “I already told you how I felt about that.”

  He throws me an annoyed look and pushes a button to retract the tray table touch screen. “Yes, you’re so traumatized by any type of bondage. Yet, you kept me chained up for days.”

  “I planned to let you go if that makes you feel any better,” I answer with an apologetic wince.

  “When?” he asks, rising to his feet. “After you brought me to heel? As if my species was the one specifically designed to obey yours and not the other way around?”

  Regrets…yep, I got a few as he levels me with that golden stare. The same yet nothing at all like the dragon I fell in love with. “Look, I know this version of you likes to pick a fight with me whenever I ask you to do anything halfway decent. But I’m still processing all the drama that went down back in North Dakota and I’m just not in the mood. Now can you get Bazzi set up or what?”

  DAMIANOS

  Bazzi…

  I startle. Though not at her still impertinent tone. “Bazzi….is this a shortened form of Basileios?”

  She nods.

  “But how did you know this was what I wished to name him?”

  “We discussed it. Other You and me. I only agreed to think about it, but when he disappeared…”

  I can sense her sadness. Not only over our mate bond but also in the dark blue of her flame.

  “You grieve the pretender,” I note with a tilt of my head. I mean to deliver this line in a disparaging tone, but more feeling slips out than I would like.

  She lifts her eyebrows at me. “That surprises you?”

  I consider the ramifications, then make a decision to risk sharing my thoughts in order to know hers. “You hated me before my imprisonment, but you felt…differently about him.”

  “I don’t hate you now.”

  My flame thins. “Because of him.”

  “Yeah, because of him.” I am careful to keep my side of the mate bond muted, but my feelings about her feelings must register on my face. For she scrunches her forehead and says, “Shocked face emoji, so now you’re jealous?”

  I am not sure how to talk about the feelings confusing my flame. Yet after so many nights spent in lazy discussion in front of her wall screen, doing so with her comes more easily than I would have expected. “If he were here, I would torture him for millennia, worse even than I tortured the Betrayer King. He attempted to take my place. To take you from me.”

  “Yeah, but…” She tilts her head in the same direction as mine. “You’re acting like he was another dragon. Not you from…I don’t know exactly where he was from, but I’m guessing it was another timeline. He’s a possible version of you. One that hasn’t been realized.”

  At her words, a cold realization washes over me. “So that was your plan? To turn me into him?”

  Myriad emotions flash through in her flame before she seems to decide to answer, “Yeah, that’s my plan exactly.”

  She is my mate. But she longs for another. It is easy to be cruel. “That is a stupid, ill-thought-out plan, Ola.”

  She lets out a wry sound, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “You think so?”

  “I could never be him.”

  She lifts her chin and pushes her chest out in that vexing way of hers. Over prideful and idiotically defiant. “I mean, I guess we’ll see.”

  Impatience rears, and I cannot keep myself from replying. “No, we will never see. I will never be him. His eyes…did you not see how they glowed brighter than mine? Without cease?”

  Her chest flame flickers with uncertainty. Yet her chin stays lifted. “Yeah, and…”

  I do not know whether to shake her for her refusal to concede my superior knowledge or be impressed that she bows to no one. I settle for delivering the cold truth upon her. “And that is the main sign of a condition we call widower’s madness.”

  She stills, and I can see the truth is beginning to sink in. “So I was right. I did die on him. That’s why he revered me and treated me like I was the most precious thing on Earth. Why he loved me…so much I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with him, too.”

  Her words hit my flame like a splash of cold water. He loved her. And she loved him.

  That last realization inspires me to twist the knife and make her see the utter hopelessness of her silly plan to turn me into that crazed drakkon. “He is the version of me that would have happened if you had died in childbirth. If both you and Basileios had died in childbirth. But you did not die. Basileios is here and mine. And that is a paradox that could not be reckoned with inside the quantum field. This is why he disappeared. And this is why your plan will never work, she-wolf. Even though you’ve once again made yourself my prisoner.”

  This reveal does what my other words could not. Her defiant chin finally drops.

  I have another pair of custom contacts waiting
for me at my Greek estate. But perhaps I won’t put them back in right away when we land. Watching the twist of her flame as my words fully sink in gives me that much satisfaction.

  No, I did not take my revenge back in North Dakota as I had been planning since waking up shackled to that kingdom house bed. And yes, I let her candy-coated visions of our future sway me from my goal.

  But that did mean I wasn’t still in full control. Of myself and of her. This triumph proves—

  “Queen of Drakkon.”

  Her voice inside my head makes me snap my eyes back to hers.

  And I find her not dissolved into piteous tears, but once again holding her chin up with her chest thrust out. There are also twin flames blazing in her eyes. “I’m not your prisoner. I’m your queen.”

  I stare down at her, my entire body aflame.

  She stares up at me. Defiant despite her circumstances.

  “You will not win this battle between us,” I promise her, my voice dark and sinister.

  Both drakkon and wolves have quivered at my voice, but she merely smirks. “Look, Triple D. You’re an asshole and I’m a bitch. Both of us like getting our way.”

  “I will get my way.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Insert whatever threat here.” She shakes her head.

  Then raises one hand, not to punch me in the throat as she did the last time we argued, but to once again cup my cheek.

  “You’re not going to keep me prisoner, because I’m not planning on going anywhere. I made you a promise, so that means you got me. For life. No supervillain stunting required. You plus me. Ruling over shit. This is our happy ever after. And we’re going to figure out how to make it work. Together.”

  Together…

  It is an impossible fantasy she spins. She is my prisoner. My father’s death requires retribution for the dishonor bestowed upon him. Eventually, I will take my revenge upon her family, including her sister and The Betrayer King. After that, as she said herself, she won’t be able to keep any of the promises she made to me at the kingdom house.

  Yet with her hand upon my cheek, I feel my own flame flutter with uncertainty.

  Together.

  The word whispers inside my plane as the drone speeds us toward my estate.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wake up the morning after our North Dakota escape. In a huge, soft bed. On the second floor of the full-on castle Damianos called his Greek estate.

  I sit up and stretch my arms as vague jet-lagged memories of Damianos depositing Bazzi and me in here last night blip through my mind.

  The suite he gave us is crazy-over-the-top. I’m talking floor to ceiling silk drapes, stained glass windows that were probably painted and installed by somebody from the Renaissance era section on the syllabus for my college art history class. There’s also a balcony perfect for either looking out on to the sparkling Mediterranean Sea or professing your poetic love to that boy Romeo your parents hate so much. The furniture is heavy, dark, and carved in a way that makes me think real hands, not cold machines were involved.

  Seriously the only thing modern in the whole place is the King Poppa oversized T-shirt I’m still wearing and the automatic bassinet Damianos produced out of nowhere for Basileios last night.

  Speaking of which, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and get Bazzi something to eat.

  But when I drop my legs down over the side of the bed my heart stops. The bassinet is empty! Where is he? My wolf instinctually gives the room a big sniff. But I can’t smell him either.

  I’m just about to go into full-on panic mode when the arched doors to the suite crash open.

  “You’re awake finally. Good.” Damianos says as he enters.

  My heart stutters again. He’s got Bazzi with him. Not in his arms, though.

  The baby…our baby…he’s flying, his wings creating small whumps as he beats them against the air to keep himself afloat.

  “Bazzi! WTF, kid?” I ask, my eyes widening.

  When Bazzi sees me, he lets out a happy gurgle and comes zooming straight at me.

  I jump off the bed, and just barely manage to catch him when he literally flies into my arms. “You’re flying now?”

  Bazzi lets out a screechy sound, that I can only translate as, “Yeah I’m flying, Mom, but I still can’t talk.”

  I look over at Damianos, truly astounded. “I mean, I guess I knew this was possible. The twi—” I catch myself at the last moment from referring to the twins. Other Damianos knew. But the one standing before me is still too evil to be safely told about my hybrid nieces.

  “He didn’t even flutter his wings back at the kingdom house,” I say instead.

  “That is because he was underfed.” Damianos frowns in a way that also makes his sharp jaw clench. “All drakkon can fly from birth. The first instinct a drakkon babe has is to hunt the meat it needs to live since unlike your too long infantilized species, we were not designed to be helpless from the start.”

  I dig through all those insults to translate. “Wait, ten to twelve bottles a day was underfeeding him?”

  “Yes. Also, the formula lacked the proper nutrients. I suspected as much when he continued to sleep through our escape, our flight here, and your installation into this room. And I saw that I was right this morning when he immediately took to the air after I fed him a breakfast of meat. Sleeping the way he was prior to this morning’s meal is a drakkon’s natural response to starvation.”

  “Like hibernation,” I whisper. A terrible feeling comes over me and I turn to look at the baby I’m holding. Our son who’s now happily screeching instead of pitifully squalling…sitting up in my arms instead of lying there and guzzling bottles in desperate gulps. He looks back at me, eyes bright and his wings vibrating as if he’s just dying to take them for another spin.

  “Why does your flame burn dark red with shame now?” Damianos asks.

  I notice now that his eyes are still golden, which I guess means he can read me just like other Damianos used to.

  “I thought he was behaving perfectly normal, because all wolf babies do is cry and sleep the first few months,” I answer. “But he was actually starving. For, like, two weeks, he was starving. He could have died if I hadn’t run away with you.”

  Damianos tilts his head. “Again, why do these facts bring you shame? Also, your flame is lit up above your stomach as if you’re in physical pain though no harm has come to you.”

  “I’m his mother,” I whisper. “I should have known he wasn’t thriving.”

  “That is absurd,” Damianos answers. “He is a hybrid baby, the likes neither of us has ever seen. Why would you expect to sense a problem outside of your experience?”

  That would have been a valid point, if not for the twins I spent three months with before they went into hiding.

  Suddenly I recall how the twins were always flying around the woods that made up the Upper Peninsula Michigan Kingdom House’s backyard. They’d chase after squirrels and other animals, like rabbits and birds.

  At least I thought they were only chasing after them. Maybe I’d just never seen what happened when one of those backwoods’ animals got caught. Again, I long for a call with Fensa.

  “You are yearning for someone.” Damianos goes dangerously still, his golden eyes flattening. “You will tell me who it is.”

  “My sister,” I answer, voice tight. “She’s the only other mom on Earth I could turn to for advice. But if I try to get in contact with her, you’ll find her and kill her. Or worse.”

  His side of our bond goes dangerously numb. “So you know where she is currently located?”

  Strange, people have been telling me all my life that I’m a hothead who doesn’t know when to shut up.

  If you can’t speak kindness, cease talking, Ola. How many times had FJ told me that?

  But Damianos has managed to teach me in three months what my parents couldn’t in nearly three decades. When to talk back. When to be quiet. When to change the subject to safer topics.
>
  Like… “So, Triple D, I don’t suppose there’s a Starbucks or anything on your megavillain island? I’m dying for some coffee.”

  This time a smile almost makes it to his lips before I feel the now familiar icy suppression of his amusement over our mate bond.

  “You don’t have to keep on doing that, you know,” I tell him.

  “Doing what?” he asks with an arch of his brow.

  “Pretending I’m not amusing the hell out of you. It’s okay to laugh at my jokes. Other You did all the time.”

  “As I told you, the pretender was obviously quite mad.”

  “You think laughter is crazy?”

  “I think it is unnecessary.”

  “Then why did your designer give you the ability to do it?”

  He opens his mouth to answer. Then frowns. Then admits, “I…I do not know.”

  Despite all the tension between us, I can’t help but laugh at his confusion. “Maybe whoever it was figured it was good for you not to feel so uptight all of the time.”

  A hard beat of silence, then it’s his turn to change the subject. “The latest in the family line of housekeepers that comes in to supplement the Colbys work is currently downstairs. She can make you whatever you require.”

  I freeze. “Another thrall?”

  “Not anymore,” he answers. “I have ungodspoken her. But she agreed to stay on after I offered her a permanent job along with a commiserate raise. As it turns out, many servants are perfectly willing to do as they always have for the correct sum.”

  “You’re just now figuring this out?” I ask with a wry laugh. But somewhere deep inside of me, there’s a small flare of hope. He says he’s not Other Damianos, but he ungodspoke his servants, just like the dragon I fell in love with did.

  “I had to instruct her out loud to sliver pieces of meat small enough for Golden Prince to eat. That was tedious.” He frowns at me. “You’re laughing again. Why do you find what I’m saying so amusing?”

  “Hey, it’s not my fault that Damianos off of mind control is funny as hell.” I throw my hand against the back of my head, lower my voice a few registers, and put on a vaguely ancient accent to lament, “It’s so hard to find good servants without totally highjacking their minds these days. How will my 15,000-year-old ass even cope?”