Realm of the Dragon (The Soul Mate Tree Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  Zane kicked at a broken stalagmite the way a pouty brat would. “Is there no other way?”

  “No. No. No!” She spat the last venomously. “There is nothing else— Where are you going, Prince Spineless?” For Zane had begun edging toward the narrow entrance, sidling along the rough-hewn wall.

  “Home to Diablian. I have been neglecting my duties.” He broke off as she threw back her head and laughed. “What do you find so amusing?”

  Tasha drifted closer, until she stood mere inches from the cowardly Diablian. “That you think you can just walk away, oh mighty dragon.” She moved, as if to pat his face, and the dimwit actually flinched. “Do you worry I might claw out your eyes?” Tasha tilted her head, considering. “I wonder what use a blind dragon might possibly be to his kingdom.” She fluttered her fingers, tipped in scarlet, between his eyes, using one sharp nail to draw blood.

  He squealed like a youngling who’d been yanked off its mother’s teat. “My father will not tolerate your insolence, Aventasha.”

  Nose to nose, she stared him down. “Your father will disown you, disavow you, and imprison you for your actions against Battle Draconian, and you know it. You can’t go home.” As his face drained of color, she smirked.

  Sizing him up, she puzzled over what benefit there was to not permanently maiming him. Then she brightened. “Of course. It makes perfect sense.”

  The imbecile had enough brains to flatten himself against the jutting rock at his back, his expression one of abject horror. “What? What is it now?”

  He’d no sooner spoken than Tasha was on him, slamming him against granite; one hand fisted his hair, the other poised threateningly an inch from his face.

  As he stared at her claws in fearful fascination, she purred, “With that useless Maran dead, the memory spell is broken, and I am sure the precious Lilliaa has remembered all. Let her bask in the love of her adoring family only as long as it takes you to steal her sister.”

  “For what purpose? Gods above, she isn’t old enough to do anything with,” Zane protested, still trying to back away from Tasha’s talons.

  “She’s old enough to watch and suffer while I gut her sister in full view of the Draconian Prince. And old enough to bleed out in a most satisfactory way, once I turn my efforts to her.”

  “You would murder the daughters of Anglican? Are you insane? What can it possibly gain you, Tasha?”

  “Revenge.” She dragged her thumb down the side of his cheek, leaving a slash of dark red behind. She drew another claw under his chin and enjoyed the way he gurgled in panic. “A woman scorned, Zanralth. It isn’t just a catchy phrase in a book of human proverbs. I gave Kordlith my innocence, my devotion. And in return he threw me aside. Why should she have him? Why should any female have him, if not me?”

  Resurgent outrage tore through Tasha as she thought of the scrawny Lilliaa, wrapped in Kord’s arms. Beneath him on a bed of sumptuous furs while he drilled his impressive length between her puny thighs—

  The sound of Zane choking brought her to her senses and she focused on the five slits her claws made in his throat. Blood stained her nails. Repulsed, she threw him aside, and he landed on a waist-high stalagmite with a scream of pain.

  Nonchalantly, Tasha pulled a linen from her pocket and cleaned her claws, then kicked Prince Milquetoast in the side for his whimpering. “Oh, you’re not dead. Yet.” She snickered. “Get up. We have plans to make.”

  “You will be executed for this, Aventasha of Marshollaze,” Zane wheezed, rubbing his oozing neck with one hand, and his ass with the other.

  She eyed him indifferently, then examined her nails for traces of blood. It would never do for their loveliness to become encrusted with weakling dragon blood—

  “Well?” he demanded, struggling to prop himself against the chunk of rock he’d landed on. “Is that what you want? To rot in gaol, to die for these crimes?”

  Tasha turned toward the mouth of the dim, foul-smelling cavity. Across the greatest width of Vining Lake the Anglican kingdom sat like a great flowering lump. She’d always hated her birthplace. Neutral nitwits, the lot of them. What did they know of passion, of thwarted desires? Of the glory of battle? “I should have been born a warrior,” she mused.

  Pivoting to the hapless Zanralth, she stated, “A warrior. I can do that easily enough.”

  His brow pinched. “What the demon are you talking about? You’re not a warrior. And you won’t escape punishment for your crimes. Not to mention you haven’t the magical strength to best the Anglican princess once she obtains her full dragon power—”

  “I will do as I please. And I know exactly how to do it. Maran might be dead, but his Eight live. All right, seven,” she amended. “Seeing as Maran couldn’t withstand Kord’s temper. Any one of the Seven will be happy to help me out, once they get an eyeful of my payment to them.”

  “You think you can buy any of them, the way you did Maran?”

  “Of course. Especially when I promise them a royal virgin’s heart in exchange for their . . . assistance. Do you have any idea what a rogue coven can do with a royal virgin’s heart? The magick they can conjure?”

  As Zane’s face paled to fish-belly white, Tasha raised an amused brow. “Ah, I see you do.”

  A misty rain fell over the border between Draconian and Anglican as Bakka crossed the pasture. The pouch slung over his shoulder held the official decree signed by King Droc, declaring Princess Lilliaa alive and under Draconian protection, along with a formal invitation. He could already picture the amazement Lily’s family would experience once they knew their lost princess had been found.

  The sky had blackened behind him, obscuring the third realm sun. He needed to hurry before the oncoming storm hit. Von had offered to fly him across Vining Lake, and from there, Bakka made the remaining hike to their lands.

  The Kingdom's freicia would be on alert as usual, but he hoped they’d spot the official colors he wore on his tunic, indicating he was friend and not foe. Otherwise, at the very least, he’d end up sporting a few bruises.

  Striding through the final copse of trees before the guard tower, Bakka kept a wary eye on the stone edifice, prepared to explain his uninvited appearance on Anglican soil.

  No guard manned the tower.

  “What the hell?” Bakka peered between the largest outcropping of rocks, seeking the freicia always on patrol, but seeing an empty parapet. “That’s not right—”

  A scream rang out, abruptly cut off in mid-shriek. Bakka ducked, then spun in a circle, looking for danger. A deesirr attack? The gentle creatures were in doe season and their young were easy to take down. Yet the pitch of that cry wasn’t so much fauna as—

  Another rent the air, terrified and in pain. Bakka raised his nose to catch a scent. And smelled the fear of a young dragon.

  Dropping the rolled-up decree, he sprinted toward the far corner of the pasture where the sounded had emanated. He squinted hard, trying to see through the encroaching dim as the black clouds thickened.

  Bakka spotted movement between two enormous sentry boulders, and ran harder. Almost there . . . When he rounded the first boulder his worry transformed to anger, stopping short at the sight of a familiar figure striding away.

  Zanralth of Diablian.

  The rotten bastard had a rough sack flung over his shoulder, big enough to hold a small deesirr.

  Or a youngling dragon.

  A muffled, panicked shriek, followed by a petrified, “Let me go!” confirmed what had been captured in the sack.

  Rage exploded inside him. Dragoness!

  Dashing forward, Bakka shouted, “Let her go if you want to live!”

  Without slowing down, the rogue dragon prince glanced over his shoulder. Bakka lowered his body to a crouch, prepared to leap.

  When a familiar figure stepped into h
is path, he jerked to a sudden stop. “Aventasha.” His eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”

  She offered a smile bordering on sickening sweetness. “Why don’t you tag along, Prince Bakka, and find out.” Her smile dimmed to a mean, threatening line. “Or else the delicate bit of dragon contained in this bag might end up in Vining Lake. You know what happens when such tender flesh falls into the lake, don’t you?”

  At the growl Bakka couldn’t hold in, Tasha chuckled. “That’s right. They never come back.”

  “I should have accompanied Bakka,” Kord muttered for the tenth time as he paced the north entrance, too restless to shake off his uneasiness.

  From the fire-pit, his mother calmly turned the boarbeast roasting over the flames. “No, you are right to stay behind. Our Prince Bakkailin is within a week of his adulthood. This task will help prove your brother’s mettle and he needed to go alone. It counts as his coming of age.” She set the pronging fork aside and rose to join Kord at the archway. “I worry too. How can I not? We now have a pair of enemies against Battle Draconian, out in the realm somewhere, plotting who knows what.”

  “I heard King Nophtum proclaimed against his son. Zanralth is now considered a fugitive. It broke his mother’s heart.” Kord’s anger resurged to think of how the Diablian prince’s actions had caused his family such pain. “They gave him everything, and this is how he repaid them.”

  “No child should reap all, for it can only lead to a self-indulgent, spoiled adult. Your father and I chose to raise you and Bakka differently. As a result, I have been twice-blessed, and could not ask for better.”

  Then she cleared her throat and stepped back. “Now, go do whatever you were intending to do before you came in here, determined to spread worry over my dinner preparation.”

  She shooed him toward the inner archway leading to the family chambers. “See to your mate.”

  Humming to herself, Lily folded clothing and linens. A line of shoes, both Kord’s and hers, sat on the rug-scattered floor, cleaned and polished. Getting into the domestic side of Draconian life proved to be enjoyable, and she loved doing for Kord instead of relying on outside help.

  The longer she lived here, the more impressive she found Battle Draconian to be. Kord’s parents owned one of the tallest towers in the realm, overlooking Battle River. She had yet to see the inside of the tower, however, because Kord and his family preferred to live a more humble lifestyle, having dwelled in the royal cavern for years. Rosamunde cooked the meals, tended the exterior gardens, and kept the chambers spotless.

  Droc, Kord, and Bakka preferred to hunt daily for the vast amounts of meat the dragons required to remain healthy. The other royals, relatives from Rosamunde’s and Droc’s extended families, lived in the tower, served by procured, trusted staff.

  Lily was slowly integrating into this lifestyle. Vital childhood memories had been coming back to her, filling her heart with happiness, and she couldn’t wait to see her family again.

  Two powerful arms snaked around her from behind, nestling her against a warm, hard chest. Her mate’s scent surrounded her, and her body responded to his now familiar touch, her core dampening. Lily tilted her head to better accommodate Kord’s tongue against the pulsing vein in her neck. The shirt she’d been folding dropped to the floor.

  “Mmm.” He ran his nose along her sensitive skin, into her hair. “Apples and honey.” He sniffed lavishly, causing her to giggle at the velvet tickle of his tongue.

  She shivered. “You always say that.”

  “Because that’s how your dragon scent tastes to me.” Kord nibbled her ear-tip, then licked it erotically.

  “Gods.” She grasped his muscled forearms, edging close to climax from a single nip. Once Kord realized how ultra-receptive her ear-tips were, he used that knowledge to his advantage, often at the most inopportune times.

  Now he spun her around and covered her lips in a deeply penetrating kiss, one hand tangled in her hair, his other gripping low on her backside, melding their centers together until she shuddered with desire. Lily clung, blind to anything except the powerful need to have her mate over her, inside her. She didn’t care that it was the middle of the day.

  “Bed.” She slid a palm inside the front of his pants, fisting his hard flesh. He cursed aloud, then thrust into her hold in short, demanding bursts.

  “There’s not enough time for what I’d like to do to you,” he murmured against her mouth, then playfully bit her top lip.

  “I need you—”

  “Shh, my litil shur’tugal.” He chuckled. “You remember what that means, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m your little dragon rider. It’s what I want right now.” She crowded closer. “I want to ride my dragon prince.” Her voice dropped to a low purr. “I want him to drink me until I don’t know where I stop and he begins.”

  “Lilliaa—”

  “You started it,” she reminded him, as she gripped his cock and ran her hand along its impressive length. She swore every inch of his body trembled in reaction, making her feel like a goddess for the ability to render a mighty dragon like Kordlith quivering and mindless with need.

  He drew in a harsh breath before pushing her back, which lately took a bit of muscle-power. Lily had been growing stronger every day, and she wasn’t so easily set aside. But she relented, loosening her hold and allowing space between their bodies. If Kord felt the need to deny her a sexy bed-romp, there must be good reason. Suddenly concerned, she searched his face and saw worry there.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.” Kord scrubbed his hands over his face. “A feeling. Mother feels it too, though she won’t readily admit it.”

  “Is this about Bakka traveling to Anglican to meet with my parents?” At Kord’s brief nod, she blew out a frustrated huff. “Maybe I should have gone with him—”

  “No, absolutely not.” He held her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “Of what benefit would it be for you to accompany Bakka? It was bad enough my stubborn brother pushed for permission to undertake this tasking alone.”

  “He must have a good reason, right?”

  “He does. Bakka needs to prove himself worthy of his dragon before he can shift, and this jaunt fits right in. Due to what damage Tasha and Zanralth caused both the Battle Draconian and Anglican realms, they’re on the run. Zanralth’s kingdom has declared their prince a criminal. It’s only a matter of time before Anglican issues the same against Tasha.”

  “If Bakka gets hurt it’ll be my fault.” A sob rose to her throat at the thought.

  With a rough oath, Kord gathered her close. “No, not your fault. Not ever. Prince Bakkailin is stronger than you think. Clever, too. Proper protocol will be met by his official report to your parents. All will be well, and he’ll escort your family here as planned. You’ll have your reunion in a safe place.” He paused, cleared his throat. “And I can speak formally to your father as befits tradition.”

  “I can’t wait,” she whispered.

  Kord raised her face for his kiss, when a sharp scream echoed throughout the cavern.

  They broke apart and Kord whirled toward the corridors, Lily hot on his heels. Reaching the main chamber, they spotted Droc crouched on the hard stone floor with Kord’s mother sobbing in his arms.

  Kord and Lily both dropped to their knees beside the Draconian king. “What happened?” Kord demanded, then uttered a foul curse as Droc shook his head hard, pointing to a fancy wooden box on the floor.

  Leaning over Kord’s shoulder, Lily bit back a horrified cry of her own as she spied what was in the box.

  A single, bloody finger, still wearing the insignia ring of a Battle Draconian prince, a less ornate version of the one Kord wore on his right hand.

  Bakka.

  Chapter 14

  Bakka glared a
t Zanralth, ignoring the pain lancing through him from his severed digit. Rage burned bright inside him, as he attempted to keep his gaze off the young, pretty female chained by her ankle along the far wall of the rock-shelters. How Tasha managed to snatch her, Bakka still wasn’t sure. Nor could he fathom how Tasha had cleared the main tower of freicia. He could only hope the guard faction hadn’t been murdered, or wounded and tossed into Vining Lake to perish.

  Although she appeared unharmed, whenever she lifted those long, silky lashes and snuck furtive glances their way, he read the terror in her eyes.

  It made him freaking nuts, and he felt his dragon’s agitation as it awoke.

  That meant only one thing.

  She was meant to be his mate.

  Her innocence and tender nature called to every protective instinct in him. It was only a matter of time before his dragon clawed its way out to defend what was theirs.

  Bakka’s gaze slid back to the Diablian prince, his anger mounting at the way the asshole was studying her. His pain forgotten, he let out a low growl. “You even breathe near her, you die.”

  Zane paled, though he stuck his chest out in an attempt to disguise his cowardice. “Tough talk for a nine-fingered dragon in chains.” He pointed a dagger at him. “Maybe we’ll remove the next one the old-fashioned way, instead of using magick.”

  “Yeah, good idea. Pathetic lizard. Why don’t you come over here and try it?” Bakka’s shoulders flexed threateningly as his upper lip curled in a sneer.

  Zane paled even further, visibly nervous, and licked his lips. “Don’t think I won’t,” he blustered.

  What a waste of royal realm-space. Bakka snorted.

  Actually, he’d expected them to kill him outright, and was surprised when they hadn’t. Bakka figured he was still of some use to Tasha, or she wouldn’t have cauterized the wound.

  For certain the traitors hadn’t counted on him being within Anglican grounds when they’d snatched the female. As hard as he’d fought to free her, they’d forced his surrender, holding a dagger above the bag containing the dragoness. He'd had no choice but to acquiesce to their demand.