The Dragon Mate's Awakening (Dragongrove Book 3)
Page 1
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER ONE
She was burning. She didn’t know when it had begun; time had ceased to exist. Fire coursed through her flesh, through her veins, through her soul. She didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t see or hear or smell, but she could feel, and all she felt was agony.
Desperately, she tried to hang on to any coherent thought. One returned to her, repeatedly, over the course of her lifetime of pain. Why? She was afraid of the answer, although she already knew it. She was in Hell.
She wondered if she deserved it. She had tried to live a good life, but she was human and had made mistakes. She thought of the one room schoolhouse she’d attended briefly, a lifetime ago, and the boy there who’d thought that he loved her. She’d told him she loved him back and kissed him, and then run to her friends and laughed at him, right to his face. The memory filled her with shame, as it always did, but if she was truly in Hell it seemed only fair for her to relive her crime.
She thought of her father, who’d never thought he loved her. It had been her and her mother against him, and when he came back late at night, smelling like liquor and in a rage she’d covered her head with her pillow as she heard him take it out on her mother. She’d been in the same room, in their tiny cabin, and she’d never had the courage to stop him. That was a sin worthy of this punishment.
She thought of her father’s corpse. She remembered him choking on his dinner late one night, drunk and angry and spitting venom while he chewed. She remembered how she and her mother had watched him, solemnly, as he gasped for air and turned blue. Neither of them had touched him or run for help until they were sure he was well and truly dead, and then she’d darted screaming into town, but all she’d felt was relief. Another sin for the list.
All of the awful wrongs she’d committed in her short life, all of the offenses she’d made against anyone, all of the times she’d been selfish and vain and cold hearted were replayed for her while she burned. She resigned herself to this, eventually, knowing that if she was truly in Hell, then death would never come to free her from her torment.
Day in, day out, suffering was her existence.
Hope returned, eventually, in the form of blue.
.....
Caelian’s palms were sweaty. They’d destroyed the shrine, they’d burned the house, the other patients were all awake, some standing and talking. Why was his Margaret still unwell?
His Margaret. He’d come to think of her that way over the weeks that he’d sat next to her, brushing through her messy yellow curls, administering herbal pain remedies, constantly watching for any sign that she was recovering. He’d told her every story he could remember of his whole long life, every time he’d been pleased with or embarrassed himself, told her how he would kiss every freckle on her face once she was awake and his. He longed to know the color of her eyes.
She was his mate. He was sure, as sure as he’d ever been about anything, and when she finally woke he would hold her and tell her and build a life with her. Her belly would swell with his children, her presence would warm his rooms at the palace, she would know life as it was meant to be as the mate of a dragon prince.
Margaret’s life so far had not been easy, Ingrid had speculated. She’d been dumped at Dragongrove by a man who hadn’t even spared her a backward glance. Her gown had been too short and mended so many times it was like patchwork; her stockings had been threadbare and her hands had been red and blistered. From the moment she woke until the end of her life, she would never want again, Caelian had vowed. He would care for her.
He wished that he could take her with him during his return to his homeland, Arnes, but the way was long and the land was ravaged by war. It wouldn’t be safe for a human. He didn’t know what kind of world he and his brothers would be returning to, after their nearly decade long banishment, but it would be dealt with quickly and made safe for Margaret, if he had his way.
He glanced across the room to where two of his brothers, and his new sister-in-law, he supposed, stood. His younger brother Tarquin looked as he always did: sullen and bored. His face betrayed little, but Caelian could see annoyance as his gaze flicked over to the loudly laughing former residents of Dragongrove. They had gathered at a corner table, each with a drink in hand, all with relief and shock on their faces. Caelian would have likely been sitting with them, he thought suddenly, if his mate and life hadn’t been asleep on this makeshift bed.
His oldest brother stood tall and proud, an imposing figure, but his face was weary. Helias had been instilled since birth with a discipline and sense of duty that Caelian had never had. He admired it, often, but seeing the obvious weight on his brother’s shoulders didn’t make him wish for a different upbringing. Being a fifth son, it had never been a concern that Caelian would ever rule.
Ingrid was… Ingrid. Dutiful, decisive, busy. Her ancestral home had been burned to the ground, on purpose, several hours before, and he hadn’t seen her sit still for longer than a minute since then. She checked the patients who’d just awoken, recovered from the illness that his Margaret was still suffering, then swept out of the tavern where they were sitting, down the hallway to check on Caelian’s brand new nephew, and back to his brothers. She was a good match for Helias, he thought. His brother was born to be king, weighing each option carefully before making prudent decisions, whereas Ingrid was quick and decisive. Arnes would be in good hands when they finally won it back.
Caelian looked down at Margaret. Her face was peaceful, which was something. When he’d first found her in the infirmary it had been tense, screwed up in a look of pain. She was the last of all the ill to wake, though, and he couldn’t ignore the knot forming in his chest when he acknowledged that. She should have been awake at least an hour before, and his mind raced over possibilities of w
hat they could have done wrong, why she still slept, why his mate wouldn’t open her unseen eyes and look at him.
He reached down to brush a stray yellow curl off of her forehead, and paused with his fingers there when her breathing visibly quickened.
.....
Everything burned in blue. The fire was there, around her, in her, but the blue held it back, slightly, added a gentle calming to the flames, until their roar sounded more like the sea crashing on the shore. She could smell it, she swore, before remembering that she had never seen the sea, had only had the smell described to her. Her body burned, as it had since the dawn of time, but it wasn’t all consuming. It was painful but manageable, and soon she could think.
She wasn’t sure why she’d been granted a reprieve. Perhaps she was still alive, perhaps she could live a good life and atone for her sins and never return to the burning place. Maybe it had only been a warning.
The roar of the flames was beat back as the blue enveloped her. It was soothing and quenching and spoke to her soul. It was home. She became aware of her breathing, of her heartbeat echoing in her ear.
She was lying on something soft. Her limbs and joints ached deeply, but she rejoiced at the ache. She could feel them. She was no longer a swirling mass of burning and suffering, but a person with a body and a place.
A strange sound shook through her, loud and unexpected. Laughter, she realized, but not just from one person. Wherever she was, there was a large group of people, and they were laughing.
The most intoxicating scent came over her, then. It was spicy and heady, rich but somehow light, and despite never having smelled it before it was the most familiar thing in the world to her. It was blue, she knew somehow. The mysterious, shapeless blue which had pulled her back from the brink, which had enveloped her and doused the flames and saved her very soul from damnation.
She opened her eyes, then blinked against the bright light, her sight swimming and fuzzy. She shut her eyes for a moment, pressed them hard together and then opened them a second time.
She saw blue.
CHAPTER TWO
The blue was attached to a gaze, and the gaze was attached to the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She couldn’t stop herself from staring back at him, admiring the strong curve of his jaw and the way his blond hair fell across his forehead, which was wrinkled with concern. She couldn’t muster the strength to care that she was staring, and for a long moment they just observed at each other. Before she knew what she was doing she lifted her hand, slowly, and brushed the back of her fingers across his stubbly cheek. He shut his eyes and pressed into her touch, and when he opened them again the intensity of his look made her feel faint.
She held her breath for a long moment, not daring to move again, not wanting to stop touching him. The air between them was electric, her fingertips were on fire where they rested against his face.
She dropped her hand quickly when a dark haired woman rushed to her side. The moment ended, and she studied the new woman’s face then, trying hard not to blush. The woman who leaned over her would have been pretty, she supposed, were it not for the fatigue and heartache plain on her face. Her dark hair ran down her back in a thick braid, and dark circles under her eyes matched the hollows in her cheeks. She smiled kindly, though, as she explained what she was doing.
“Hi Margaret,” she said softly, “I’m Ingrid. You seem to be recovered, I’m just going to check you over.”
She was quiet as she did, her mouth drawn into a frown as she felt her wrist, then her neck.
“How are you feeling?” the dark haired woman asked.
“I don’t know,” was all she could think to say, her attention still occupied by the handsome man who had wandered a few feet away to stand with two other men. The room was crowded, and there was a bar running along one wall. Surely this wasn’t where patients were treated.
“That’s normal,” said Ingrid, sighing before smiling again. “It may take a few days to recover. You can stay here as long as you need before you return home.”
Home. The word prickled at the back of her brain, sending alarm bells through her. “How long have I been here?” she asked.
“Well you’ve only been here a few hours,” said Ingrid, gesturing to the room around them, “but you’ve been with us for four weeks.”
Her eyes widened and panic rose in her chest. Four weeks. It was far longer than she could afford to be away.
Ingrid finished checking her over and patted her gently on the arm. “I think you’ll be just fine,” she said, smiling tiredly. “Caelian will look after you for now. We’re all so pleased that you’re better.”
Ingrid nodded to the handsome blonde man, whose gaze was still trained on her. The newly recovered woman watched as Ingrid crossed to where the handsome man was standing with the others. Now that she was able to see more clearly she could see that they were all attractive, but the one she’d touched was clearly the best looking. Ingrid leaned into a tall, golden haired man, looking dead on her feet. Maggie looked away and found herself studying the ceiling from her makeshift bed. The wide spaced planks reminded her of home, of trying to keep the floors clean but never being able to sweep the cracks thoroughly enough. She didn’t know why that strange memory had come to mind; it had been quite a long time since she had needed to sweep her own floors.
The handsome man came back to her side, and she knew he was moving as soon as he started. She was drawn to him like a magnet, and she could hardly control her neck as she turned to watch him come near again.
He reclaimed his chair and smiled widely at her. “Hi Margaret,” he said, his eyes blazing. “I’m Caelian.”
“Caelian,” she breathed, enjoying the way it felt on her tongue. “Call me Maggie.”
.....
Brown. Her eyes were light brown and honey colored, like molten copper, like cinnamon. It was his favorite color, he realized suddenly.
Maggie. It suited her.
Her limbs moved slowly, as Ingrid poked and prodded at her, and he could see the haze in her eyes from his place with his brothers, across the room from her. He absently touched the place on his cheek where she had reached for him, then took a deep, shuddering breath. She was no longer a mystery, she was real, and he was overcome.
Helias put a hand on his shoulder, briefly. “It’ll be alright,” he said quietly, in his low voice.
Caelian smiled absently. “Is it that obvious?”
Helias shrugged. “She’s your mate, it’s significant. And… I think it’s more than just nerves.”
Caelian raised an eyebrow.
“I know that feeling,” Helias said, “when I first met Ingrid. Like the whole world’s shifted? I thought it was just because she’s so pretty.” He gazed affectionately at his mate.
Caelian followed his look. Ingrid was… fine. A little short for his taste, her dark hair flat and boring. It was an unfair comparison next to Maggie, whose yellow curls shone like the sun.
Maggie turned her head slightly and watched him, and he didn’t have enough shame to stop staring.
CHAPTER THREE
Maggie woke early in the morning. Ingrid had insisted that she take some money to replace her ruined gown, and after several minutes of arguing Maggie had relented. She didn’t particularly want to wear a nightgown all the way home, anyway, and the company awaiting her at home surely wouldn’t appreciate it. So she’d stopped into a large general store that had a small selection of simple clothes, and had chosen a plain white dress that was suitable for traveling.
She returned to her room at the inn and changed quickly, gathering her few belongings together. Caelian was waiting for her with breakfast and a breathtaking smile when she passed through the tavern again, and they decided to eat while they began their journey. It would be on foot, unfortunately, he informed her. Something had happened recently that had seemed to permanently spook all the horses in the area, but any time it was mentioned the speaker seemed to be intentionally vague.
She’d given up trying to puzzle it out, and instead focused on her journey ahead. Four days, Caelian had said, or perhaps three if they could move quickly. Maggie had been crestfallen at the news. Four weeks away already, and now four more days. She just hoped that the extra time wouldn’t affect things at home too much.
Caelian had made an odd face at her miserable one. “The good news,” he’d said, “is that you’ll be with me. I’m quite charming.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that, and before long they were on their way, sharing bread and cheese as they walked.
“What happened?” she asked. “At Dragongrove, I mean. No one would really say.”
“I burned for you,” she thought she heard him say, but that couldn’t have been right.
She looked at him inquisitively.
“It burned for you,” he said, “and all of the other patients. They realized it was… keeping you ill.”
Maggie drummed her fingers along her sides as she walked, silently. “Oh,” she said finally, inadequately. “They really did that just for us?”
“Of course,” Caelian said, looking at her strangely. “What’s a house compared to your life— all those lives?”