Dragon's Pleasure (BBW / Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 3)

by Isadora Montrose

  “That would account for it all right,” said Holden.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thorvald and Inge Lindorm were enjoying a rare moment of privacy in the rustic lake house that nestled so improbably in the grounds of the elegant Chateau Lind. The one-roomed cottage overlooked the purple and yellow irises that bloomed where a stream had been widened to form a shallow pond. Thorvald had built the summer house for the pleasure of his mate. He was well aware that his descendants made use of it from time to time, but he didn’t mind. He had no objections to married lovers.

  Inge had not altered much in the decades since they had been matched, he thought fondly. Her glossy blonde hair might be turning silver, but it was still thick and long. Her magnificent bosom was still reasonably high. It was true her nipples were darker and larger than they had been when she was a girl. But he did not regard that as a defect. And her skin was as satiny soft as it had ever been.

  Lindorm picked his wife up by her waist and admired the supple roundness of her rosy buttocks. She squirmed vigorously in his hands as she tried to sink back down onto his erection. He angled her a shade forward so her button would make better contact with the thick base of his lordly shaft. It was a shame that they would have no more firelings, he thought as he kissed the sensitive nape of her neck and made her moan with desire.

  Inge rolled her hips in approval of his small caress and he kissed his way to her ear, and when she turned her head towards his mouth, suckled her earlobe. She made a keening cry and splintered. He quickly caught her hard against his chest as she went limp as she had done so often before. This time when he lifted her, he used his purchase on her waist to move her to a faster rhythm. He was still chuckling into her hair when they both found their release. He let his cock slip out of her slick pussy as he fell back onto the chaise still clasping his precious mate.

  They slept, Inge lying on her dragon lord. The shadows were long in the little room when at last they stirred.

  “Do you want to tell me?” Inge asked as she rolled off her husband and stood up stretching. She glared at her clothes which were lying on the floor where Thorvald had tossed them two hours before.

  Thor turned onto his flank to watch Inge dress, enjoying her displeasure at his carelessness. The simple intimacies of married life still gave him joy. She was his fated mate. Inge knew he was worried, because she knew him. “Do you know what that rascal said?” he asked her gruffly.

  “Which rascal? We have a large family,” she reminded him as she swiftly buttoned her blouse.

  Thorvald snorted. “Not one of ours. Estremaura’s boy.”

  “Felipe?” Inge was surprised but placid. “I’ve always found him politer and better behaved than our lads.”

  “Hmph. Viking manners,” he rumbled.

  “What did Felipe say?” Inge prompted. She looked around for her shoes.

  “He pleaded that he couldn’t make our party until the second week. The EU fracas, or so he said. But I don’t think so.”

  “No indeed. He just invests as Chrissy advises, and expends his effort on polo,” Inge said serenely. “I take it he is off to Florence?” Her voice became subtly censorious, but Thor knew her well and his lips quirked.

  “You’ve got it. He has gone to Italy to play more polo, while our Chrissy waits for him to marry her. I’m having my doubts about the match,” he admitted.

  “After all these years?” Inge sat down on the window seat with her hands tightly clasped, for her a sign of great turmoil.

  “And all our exchange of pledges. Bah. What are a few acres or a hoard when we have all of Christina’s life to consider? Dragons live a long time and a duchess’s coronet won’t compensate her for decades with a neglectful husband.”

  “Have you thought, Thor my love, that Felipe is not the one for her? Maybe your vision was no more than an idle fantasy?” Inge was both indignant and worried.

  “I don’t know, my love. You know how often I have seen her surrounded by daughters? Perhaps we just made it too easy for that young fool. I remember when I was courting you. I wouldn’t have missed an hour in your company.”

  “Courting?” Inge made a noise that he would have considered a giggle in a matron less dignified than his wife.

  “I courted you, my treasure.” He leered at her.

  “If you call mauling me in corners, courting, I suppose you did.”

  “You liked it well enough, my darling,” he reminded her.

  “True. And that’s another thing that concerns me. Felipe never pulls Christina aside, let alone into a corner to kiss her.”

  Thorvald grunted. “It’s this modern world,” he grumbled. “When we were young, snatching a kiss was exciting. These young people hop in and out of beds so often they don’t experience the joys of anticipation.”

  “You complained, as I recall, about my girdle — even after we were married.”

  “It was as good as a chastity belt.” Thorvald smiled reminiscently. “But Chrissy doesn’t wear a girdle, and neither do the women Felipe plays with. If I had done more than kiss you before our wedding night, my father would have eviscerated me.”

  “Perhaps.” Inge smiled at him. “Or moved our marriage forward. Sometimes I wonder if we should just have let fate decide who her mate would be.”

  “We haven’t done so badly with our boys, have we?” he argued.

  “Oh, Thor, you have never done more than provide opportunities for our sons and nephews to meet virgins. You never picked any particular female and announced it as a match. Look at Kian. We thought he would fall instantly in love with Gretchen. And my poor little niece has such a crush on him! But he is just not interested. But we don’t intend to force the match, do we?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Yet we picked for Christina — when she was too young to care anything for boys. She was just a flat-chested tomboy in those days.”

  “She’s still a tomboy,” Thorvald said fondly. “But she’s a dragoness born. She deserves to marry the highest ranking dragon in the Guild. You know she does. Why not Estremaura’s heir? And he was eager enough sixteen years ago!”

  “I know. But he seems a lot less motivated now she is a woman grown and a beauty. And the thing is, this conversation has turned my vague sense of unease into a sense of impending doom.”

  “Are you sure?” Thorvald asked. “I have too much respect for your intuition to ignore it, Inge. And you have made me more worried, not less.”

  “Impending doom,” she said firmly. She went to the mirror and set her hair to rights. “You need to have a talk with Felipe.”

  “A little frustration would teach that rascal to value her,” declared Thorvald reaching for his shirt. “He needs to earn his bride. I’m minded to set that dragon a task.”

  Inge laughed. “You mean, send him on a Quest? Like in the days of old?”

  But Thor wasn’t smiling. “Young Estremaura had better look to his plumage,” he said.

  * * *

  Holden was at the controls of the chopper. Ivan was in the passenger seat. They were both wearing their ear protectors and speaking over headset. The five-hour flight from Juist to the Schloss Sarkany had given them ample opportunity to discuss their findings.

  “Did you think it was odd for that Felipe fellow to go all the way to Juist to fetch his parents home?” Holden asked. “Didn’t they fly there in their own plane?”

  Ivan shrugged. “The Duke and Duchess of Estremaura are not in the first flush of youth. And the death of the Grand Duke may have distressed them. The Guild of Dragons is small. Family friendships are woven together with centuries of intermarriage, and the bonds between Houses is strong. Maybe Felipe came on his own account?”

  “But not that brother of his?” Holden asked.

  “The Bulows did ask that no one below the rank of duke attend the ceremonies,” Ivan said. “That’s why Hugo didn’t go. Maybe Felipe as the ducal heir was invited.”

  “Nope,” Holden said smugly. “The princesses
were both surprised to see him. They were happy, mind you. But he was a surprise to them and to the duke and duchess too.”

  Ivan laughed. “Obviously you asked the right questions.”

  “Maybe, but I didn’t manage to ask what made it natural for the son of a duke to leave a nice warm house in March, to go sit in a cold dark maze, on a damp stone bench, long enough to leave his scent impregnated in the stone.”

  “When you put it like that, Holden, it is peculiar as hell,” Ivan said. “Even if he went outside and walked the maze, he should have just turned around and come back out. It was raining on the day of the funeral too.”

  “What do you know of this Felipe Estremaura?”

  “Balcazar Mendez. Estremaura is the title. The Spanish system uses both father and mother’s names. Balcazar is the family name of the duke, and Mendez is the duchess’s.” Ivan paused. “But that wasn’t what you were asking. Felipe is a polo player. Not much of a businessman. But he is in charge of the Bank of Estremaura.”

  Holden grunted. “Rich is he?”

  “Not as rich as he was before the banks failed.”

  “Been eight years, has he come around again?” asked Holden.

  “I wouldn’t think so. Spain is still full of half-built condos that are crumbling. Banks own way too many of them and they are worse than useless. You can’t sell them. No one will finish building them. But there are always taxes to be paid.”

  “And Balcazar Mendez owns a lot of them?” asked Holden.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should find out.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The medieval fortress outside of Chartres, where the Grand Council had its headquarters, was built of stone and for all its vast splendor was cold and damp. Wind whistled through the corridor in which Ivan and his companions had been left. Despite the warmth of spring outside, the stone walls radiated a chill. The tapestries and the flickering torches in their wrought iron stanchions did little to mitigate the cold.

  There were four other dragons standing with Ivan in the drafty hallway outside the Grand Council Chamber waiting to be summoned to declare their Mate Hunts. They were all dressed in the trailing medieval costume considered appropriate for formal audiences with the Grand Council of the Guild of Dragons. Thankfully, velvet was warm, for it had been a long wait.

  Felipe Balcazar Mendez and Richmond Drake of Jersey were stoically enduring the icy vigil. Ivan had attended the same schools as Richmond, and had known Felipe all his life, he considered them both friends. Nils and Kian Lindorm he knew only because they had been two of the heralds provided by Lord Lindorm when Ivan and Roland had called on Vadim of Montenegro, to make a formal announcement of Hugo’s betrothal to the former High Marshal of the Grand Council. The treacherous Vadim had been intimidated by Ivan’s entourage of Lindorms as well he might have been.

  Even after four hours of chilly idleness, Nils and Kian were relaxed and eager young giants. They were visibly excited by the prospect of the coming ceremony. Their bright blue eyes gleamed and even their crisp blond hair exuded happiness. Ivan envied these youths their enthusiasm. They were so clearly Lindorms. With their matching height and breadth and ruddy good looks they looked more like twins than cousins. Ivan had seen a youthful portrait of Thorvald, the present Lord Lindorm, and either of these two young Titans could have sat for it.

  Ivan suspected they were already matched to suitable virgins. Lord Lindorm liked members of his House to marry early. But he was also punctilious about observing Dragon tradition. His sons and nephews always declared their Mate Hunts before their engagements. But that didn’t mean their mates were not already found. The House of Lindorm was enviably fecund.

  The Lindorm boys were wearing the celestial blue robes of the House of Lindorm. Broad chains of old gold from which huge colored stones glimmered dimly, hung around their thick necks. Ivan did not mistake the stones’ lack of sparkle for lack of worth. The gems were immensely old. Their crude polish was the result of the limitations of the craftsmen of three thousand years past, not of the clarity and value of the stones.

  His own dark green garment was a suitable foil for the array of medieval brooches and chains that were traditionally worn by the Right Arm of Sarkany. Forged of heavy gold, and studded with rubies, carnelians and garnets, they were gaudy relics of his forebears’ barbaric tastes. His particular favorites were the massive pair of armbands that encircled his upper arms like thick gold shackles. Ferocious snakes coiled around his biceps and glared savagely at the world from winking ruby eyes. His ancestors had not been subtle.

  Felipe wore purple velvet and the chains and brooches that proclaimed his status as the Right Arm and heir of his father the Duke of Estremaura. These were complemented by a narrow circlet of gold set with pearls and sapphires that rested on his black hair. Lord Richmond was merely a fourth son, but nevertheless he too wore heavy red velvet robes and a king’s ransom about his neck.

  “What’s taking so long?” wondered Richmond aloud. “When he left us here, Father thought we would be summoned within the hour, but we’ve been out here for four hours.”

  Ivan held his tongue. He was well aware that the Grand Council would be discussing the fruitless search for the rogue dragons who had attacked first his brother and then Roland Voros. And then they would move on to his and Holden’s equivocal findings on Juist Island. Undoubtedly this was of more importance than five dragons announcing their Mate Hunts. Besides it gave him an opportunity to observe Felipe. He found it difficult to believe that the eldest son of the Duke of Estremaura would have had anything to do with the death of Reinhardt von Bulow.

  Kian nudged his cousin with a playful elbow. “I bet you can’t wait until you can claim her,” he whispered.

  “Claim who?” asked Lord Felipe lazily.

  “My mate,” Nils said proudly. He pulled a wallet from some inner recess of his robes. “See.” He held it for the others to examine.

  Ivan looked politely at the photograph, prepared to voice polite approval. Against his will, his face grew stiff and his nostrils flared with rage.

  “Hey,” Kian said indignantly. He yanked his cousin away from Ivan.

  Lord Richmond put a large hand on Ivan’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough to crack bone. “Control yourself, Sarkany,” he gritted, giving his friend a cautioning shake.

  Through a red mist licked by flames, Ivan realized he had lost control of his talent. He was breathing smoke. And flames were flickering from his nose. He drew a calming breath and stepped back from Nils. He could do this.

  “Who. Is. She?” he growled through clenched teeth.

  “My mate,” Nils said proudly.

  Ivan controlled his talent with an effort. If it was not his Christina in Nils’ hand, it was her twin. She possessed the same lovely rounded features, the same deep blue eyes and blonde hair. “She is very — desirable.” His voice rumbled threateningly.

  Richmond laughed softly into the tense silence that followed Ivan’s remark. “You are to be congratulated, Lord Nils,” he said merrily. “It is said that those of your lineage are always lucky in love. But, my friend,” he continued chuckling, tightening his grip on Ivan’s shoulder and shaking him in rough warning, “Only consider that we too descend from forbears lucky in love. Dragons unlucky in that regard leave no descendants. And yet, here we all are.”

  Ivan drew the cold air deep. Rich was correct. “You are betrothed?” he asked Nils.

  Nils shook his head. “Not yet. But once I have declared my Mate Hunt, the Eldest has said he will permit it — if her father agrees.”

  Ivan looked more closely at the photograph. Nil’s beloved was much younger than Christina. More girl than woman. Her pink and white beauty was nothing like as seductive as that witch’s.

  “What about you, Felipe?” Nils asked cheerfully. “Are you looking forward to your betrothal?”

  For an instant Lord Felipe’s noble face went blank. Then he smiled gravely. “Of course,” he said
inclining his head formally. “My whole family longs for the day.” He bowed courteously to both Nils and Kian. He turned to Ivan. “Have you found a mate, Sarkany?” he asked.

  When had the footloose and fancy free Felipe found a bride? Balcazar Mendez’s black eyes gave away no secrets.

  “Not yet.” Ivan stretched his lips in the semblance of a smile. “I had no idea you had met with success, Felipe,” he made his words a question.

  Felipe shrugged. His smile did not reach his eyes. “I have had great good fortune,” he said uninformatively. “I wish you luck, Sarkany. A wife will melt your cold heart.”

  “Hungarians are known for their hot passions,” Ivan attempted the jocularity appropriate to the occasion. What the hell was wrong with Felipe? Did he not wish to discuss his mate? But who was Ivan to ask embarrassing questions? Here he was, about to commence his Mate Hunt, utterly consumed by jealousy at the thought of some other male having a claim on Christina van Waals who was nothing to him. This desperate longing for the impossible was childish. Furthermore, it was indecent.

  He was a Sarkany. He did not lose control of his talent. He was a grown man and a dragon lord. He owed it to himself and to his House to behave like one.

  * * *

  The Warden stood up in the Council Chamber. “It is time, High Marshal,” Lord Drake said gravely, “For the Grand Council to meet those dragons who wish to seek mates this year.”

  Fifty dragon throats exhaled in a sigh of collective relief. Tense muscles relaxed. Here and there a few lords chuckled. After a long morning and afternoon of discussing the loss of the Key to the Treasury, the death of the Grand Duke of Juist, and other even more disturbing matters, this was welcome relief.

  The High Marshal Lord Voros inclined his blond head in assent, and rose to his own feet. “Let the applicants approach,” he cried.

  The heavy double doors at the back of the council chambers opened and the five young dragon lords entered. They were a handsome and impressive sight. Five tall and muscular warriors. They stood in a line until Lord Drake beckoned them forward to the dais. Shoulder to shoulder they arrayed themselves in silence.