Muir, Siobhan - Not a Dragon's Standard Virgin (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Siobhan Muir

  Poison.

  The word hissed across her awareness as loudly as the demon’s belly scales scraped against the floor as it darted in to grapple with the dragon, its jaws snapping at the blue’s throat. The blue jerked back at the last second and spat a stream of fire into the oncoming maw. The demon tried to turn, to close its jaws, but the fire seared its mouth and tongue, sliding down its throat like thick syrup, coating everything. The demon jerked upright, its eyes bulging, and a keening wail shattered the sudden lull in sound.

  Toppling backward, the demon fell onto its back with a loud crash, snapping one of the wing arms under its expanding bulk. Its belly ballooned, the scales rippling as something inside it grew larger, pushing against the outer casing like parasites seeking exit. The scent of charred flesh permeated the air as the body writhed in agony, the dangerous tail whipping the ground and walls in a frenetic coil. Isabelle thought the creature would burst, and she squinted her eyes, crouching behind the boulder and holding her breath as she waited.

  Tongues of flame burst through the skin, licking and consuming the body of the seething demon from the inside out. Hideous screams and shrieks escaped with the fingers of fire, and the blue dragon limped toward its enemy, its lupine-blue eyes fixed on the roiling carcass. Isabelle saw terrible tears and slashes marring the iridescent skin, and one wing wouldn’t fold completely to the heaving side. Brilliant crimson blood glinted like ruby streamers all along the long body, but she saw nothing but beauty in the sapphire animal approaching the thrashing serpent.

  Isabelle coughed in the acrid smoke rising from the bowl and tried not to breathe the fetid air. The blue dragon’s head swung in her direction, the cerulean eyes fixating on her. The fierce expression on the creature’s face shifted, softening with interest and compassion, and recognition slammed into her like a crossbow bolt.

  It has Jon’s eyes!

  The great winged dragon turned and stepped toward her as the shrieks morphed into a piercing whistle. Isabelle clapped her hands over her ears and tore her eyes away from his glorious beauty when something moved out of the corner of her vision. Her breath sucked in to shout a warning as the wriggling tail of the demon flashed into the air and slammed down on the blue dragon’s side. The sticky, poisoned barb lodged in the torn muscle of Jon’s ribs and pumped its sludge into the wound.

  Jon grunted and jerked, but his eyes soon glazed, and his back legs collapsed under him. Isabelle released her shriek and threw herself over the edge of the rocks, skidding and tumbling down into the rock depression. She rolled, banging her elbows and knees on every possible protrusion imaginable, but when she hit the floor, she staggered to her feet and stumbled to the dragon’s heaving side.

  “Jon!” Isabelle thumped him on the shoulder. “You must get that thing out o’ your side.”

  The dragon groaned and tried to turn to see what she described, but the strength in his shoulders gave way, and his head wobbled, crashing to the pockmarked floor.

  “Bloody hell, Jon! You can’t give up now!” she cried, but his eyes dulled, uncaring.

  Frantically, she yanked on the hideous tail, but it had lodged deep, held in place by the dead weight of the body still smoldering to her left. She searched herself for anything to help pry it out of his side, but she’d left her hatchet in the cave, and her little knife wouldn’t even mark the rancid scales. What could she use?

  She scanned the bowl, and something glinted against the base of the scored wall. She ran toward it, recognizing the large sword Jon had carried before he’d fallen. She reached for the hilt and tried to lift it, but the weapon barely budged. She narrowed her eyes and put her back into pulling it after her, wincing as the tip of the blade dragged shrilly against the rock floor.

  Sweat soaked her shirt and corset by the time Isabelle reached Jon’s side once more, but she braced her feet apart and swung the sword up, using her whole body for leverage. The damn blade made a weak arc and clanked against the demon’s tail, glancing away and pulling her off her feet. She fell to her knees with a wail of frustration, the sword skittering out of her hands.

  “Dammit!” She rose again and went after it, dragging it back to the dying dragon.

  She glanced over at Jon’s face and saw him watching her with the detached interest of the terminally ill. She braced the sword’s blade against the ground and caught her breath as she leaned over.

  “Hold on, Jon. You must hold on for me.”

  He said nothing, and she focused on lifting the unwieldy weapon up into the air. It almost unbalanced her again, making her stagger backward, but she threw her weight forward as she pulled her arms over her head, smashing the sword in a shining arc down onto the demon’s poisonous tail.

  The sword cut with a meaty crunch and slammed into the rocky ground, shooting sparks beneath the falling carcass. The hilt jerked from her hands, but she released it and pushed as hard as she could against the remaining extension of the tail, dislodging the barbed end from Jon’s side. She shoved it away from her, and it fell heavily to the ground beside the heaving blue ribs.

  “There now.” Isabelle panted as she trudged to his head. “All gone.” She fell to her knees beside him and tried to catch his eye.

  The poison still pumped through his body, but surely he could mend now. She wished she could believe her hopes, but his color faded as she watched, and panic welled up inside her.

  “Jon? Jon, what’s happening to you? You’re fading!”

  Isabelle reached for him, but he seemed to disintegrate right before her eyes.

  “Oh, Goddess, please.”

  The blue dragon dissipated like the mists before the sun, and Isabelle tried to gather him to her, but her fingers touched nothing, and she moaned her despair. Her eyes filled with tears, and she swiped her forearm across her face to clear them, before staring at the exposed rocky floor of the bowl. She expected there to be nothing, but her eyes snagged a bloody and still human form lying with his back to her.

  Isabelle gave another cry and scrambled to his side, rolling him to his back in her frantic need to get to see his face.

  “Jon!”

  The lupine-blue eyes she loved slowly opened, and a weak smile spread across his sensuous mouth.

  “You’re safe now, Isabelle,” he whispered, his eyes full of pain. “The demon is gone. You’re safe.”

  “And you’re a dragon.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before.”

  He coughed a laugh. “Stubborn woman.”

  “Aye, well, ’tis a daft idea for me to believe.”

  “Shouldn’t be.”

  “I ken.” She nodded and swallowed hard. “I met my father.”

  “The Fae?” Jon shuddered in pain. “Did he claim you as his own?”

  “I don’t ken, but he said he’d help me because I was his daughter.”

  Jon’s body relaxed as he blew his breath out in a long sigh. “He claimed you, and he’ll protect you now. Thank the Goddess.”

  Shifting his head painfully to look at her, he tried to reach for her hand, but his strength was gone. Isabelle caught it before it hit the ground.

  “Listen to me, Belle, because I don’t have much time left. You’re my True Mate, and so you’ll have the protection of all my family. Go to Dublin and seek out Seth Swift. He’s my older brother, and he’ll be happy to take you in once he knows who you are.”

  “Jon—”

  “Shhh, it’s all right. Your Fae father will help you get there safely. Make him promise you. The Fae can be wily.” He suddenly arched his back and groaned, the cords on his neck standing out in stark relief.

  “Oh, Goddess, Jon. Please.”

  His eyes sought hers once more, filling with emotion. “I love you, my sweet Fae lady, and I’ll always be in your heart. Look for me there. I love you…”

  “No, Jon!” Isabelle cried, squeezing his hand. “Please don’t go. No. No. No!”

  He stared past her now, his eyes empty of the li
fe she’d seen, and his breath rattled out of his chest with a horrible finality.

  “Jon, you can’t leave. Do you hear me?” She squeezed his shoulders. “I need you to come back to me. I don’t wish to do this without you.”

  Isabelle waited for him to blink and turn his head back to her, but he lay still, more still than she’d ever seen him.

  “Jon, please!” Tears streamed down her face, soaking the edges of her cloak. When he didn’t respond, she wailed out her grief to the wind and rain, bending forward to lean her head on his cooling chest.

  The wind whistled mournfully around the bowl, drowning out the crackling sounds of burning flesh. The rain softened, pattering around them gently as if in respect for her loss. She inhaled the scent of his clothes, trying to ignore the pungent odors of blood and singed meat as she held him. Tears flooded from her eyes, and grief squeezed her chest until she gasped out her sobs.

  She’d lost him. The pain stabbed her each time she thought it, a new wound opening up beside the loss of her mother. Isabelle moaned and clutched Jon’s clothes tighter.

  The scuff of a boot sole against the wet rock rocked her upright, and she turned her head, pulling back the cowl of her cloak to see who had intruded on her grief.

  Alain d’Ariana stood at Jon’s feet, rainwater dripping off the edges of his indigo-blue cloak with the sound of crystal chimes. He took in her tear-stained face and Jon’s silent body with an expression of thoughtfulness. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, but Alain appeared to reach an unspoken decision and crouched beside her, laying one long-fingered hand on Jon’s chest.

  “He’s gone,” she choked out.

  Alain cocked his head to one side. “Not entirely.”

  “What?”

  “There’s still time to save him, if that’s your wish.”

  Fury bloomed along with her confusion. “What are you goin’ on about? He’s dead.”

  “No, he’s still in this body, but he won’t be there much longer. If you wish to save him, there’s still a little time, but you will have to do so quickly.”

  Isabelle stared, her mind trying to decide if he teased her as the Fae were wont to do. She wanted to believe she could still save Jon, but the idea stretched beyond her understanding.

  Nay, there can’t be a way. But what if there is and I don’t take it? I’d regret it for the rest of my miserable life!

  “Be quick, girl! This isn’t time for dithering.”

  “Very well. What do I have to do?” she snapped, peering into Jon’s pale face.

  “You’re half-Fae from my line, which means you have the power to heal.” Alain pulled out a short knife and tore through the front of Jon’s shirt. “However, the poison from the demon is very powerful. You’re going to have to burn it out with power.”

  “How do I do that?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “You have to focus your intention on pushing out anything that feels ‘wrong’ within his body. Each body, each living thing, is made up of energy. Our magical abilities are simply a more concentrated form of the same living energy in everything. Visualize his body healthy, healed, and without pain or damage, and the energy will do the work.”

  “How do I know what is wrong?” Peeling back his shirt from the hideous festering wound on his side made Isabelle’s stomach turn over.

  “Put your hands on his chest,” Alain instructed then rested his hands on top of hers. “Close your eyes and follow me.”

  Isabelle didn’t know what he meant, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her panicking heartbeat. I can do this. I can save Jon because I’m Fae.

  “Do you see the energies within him?”

  She started to shake her head, but stopped when a vision of a body appeared in her mind. It looked like the same body of the dragon she’d seen fighting the demon, pulsing with light and life. But the color and light faded to gray on the extremities, pulling closer and closer to the core, the heart of the beast.

  Isabelle frowned, and the false image shifted into a human shape, the energy pulsing as an ugly swamp-green stain spread from the broken lines in the side of the form. She sensed the stain sapping all the life energy, turning it into faded emptiness of death. Grimacing in disgust, she pushed at the festering ooze with her intent, and energy flowed from her hands to envelope the body.

  At first, nothing happened. The ooze continued its relentless march through the fading life energies within Jon’s body. She grumbled and pushed harder, willing the onslaught to cease. The dark smear slowed but didn’t stop, and despair welled up inside her, crushing her determination.

  “Do not stop, Daughter! You must push it back before it reaches his heart.”

  Alain’s voice sounded far away, as if he shouted at her from across the Loch. Isabelle took a deep breath, shoved her fear out, and focused her intention on scouring the taint.

  The air around her reeked with burnt skin and hair, and damp wind loosened her tresses from her braid, the ends tickling her cheeks. Gritting her teeth, she sank into the awareness of Jon’s diseased body, letting the outside world drift into silence. Sounds, scents, and feeling disappeared. Even Alain’s presence faded from her conscious mind. Only Jon and the sickening poison existed.

  Ah, Jon, you can’t give up. I won’t let you. Come on, fight!

  “That’s it, Daughter, that’s it,” Alain crooned in the distance. “Take this knife.” The hilt of his blade pressed against the side of one hand. “You must draw the poison away from his heart out the wound in his side.”

  Isabelle opened her eyes and looked at her blood father incredulously. Wound Jon again? Was he daft?

  “The wound has already started to knit because of his regenerative powers.” Alain pointed to her lover’s ribs. “You must open it once more to let the poison out and burn it away. Hurry!”

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Isabelle stabbed the blade into Jon’s side and tore open the newly-healed tear. Jon jerked and moaned, but did nothing to protect himself from this attack. Isabelle tried to ignore the blood welling onto the cold stone as she focused on pushing the poison back out of the wound with her blue energies.

  Black viscous sludge pooled on the ground beside Jon’s body, reeking of excrement and rotting vegetation. Isabelle wrinkled her nose, but kept at her task, forcing the slow-moving ooze out of the ever-diminishing tear in Jon’s side. She had to reopen the wound twice before she could no longer see any remnants of the hideous purification in his form.

  “There.” Her shoulders slumped, and she opened her eyes. “That’s all I could find.”

  Alain said nothing, his face turned to Jon with his head cocked as if listening for something beyond her ken.

  “Yes, I think you’ve gotten everything. Now, clean your knife on your skirt and cut your wrist.”

  Isabelle just stared. “You wish me to slit my wrist?”

  “He needs your blood if he is to survive,” Alain snapped, gesturing for her arm. “I’ll do it if you cannot.”

  “Keep your hands to yourself!” she growled, and Alain sat back. “Why does he need my blood?”

  “Because it is an extension of the magic you’ve pumped into his body, and because he’s a predator.” His face creased with impatience. “Go on. You don’t have much time before he’s too gone to swallow.”

  I have to cut myself and feed Jon? The idea sickened Isabelle, but the urgency in Alain’s voice made her heart race with more fear than cutting herself. She gripped the knife with white knuckles and stared at Jon, hoping against hope he’d open his eyes and spare her from digging the blade into her flesh. No such luck.

  “Do it!” Alain snapped, and she restrained herself from stabbing him.

  Taking a deep breath, Isabelle raised the dagger and slid the edge of the blade across the skin above her wrist. Pain screamed through her awareness, and tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away as she dropped the weapon with a gasp. Blood welled up, and Alain grunted with annoyance, pos
itioning her arm over Jon’s mouth.

  The blood ran, mixed with rain, over his lips and down his chin. Alain growled in frustration and pressed her wounded arm against Jon’s mouth. She hissed in pain as his whiskers pricked the ragged edges of the cut, but tried not to jerk her hand away.

  Please, Jon. You have to drink it, especially because I can’t give you all of it!

  Isabelle tried to keep her eyes open, but her body swayed with dizziness just as Jon’s tongue swiped across her open wrist. Pain arched through her body, and she groaned, tears sliding down her cheeks. She tried to pull her hand away, but his strong, callused fingers clamped around her forearm like stocks and held her immobile as her head swam.

  “Oh, Goddess, Jon.” She rocked forward and fell across his chest, her mind flickering into the black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sweet elixir flooded down Jonarrion’s throat as the pain receded from his awareness. He almost choked on it, but the scent and taste addicted him. When the source tried to pull away, he curled his hands around it and held on tight. A weight fell across his chest, and his mouth popped away from the wonderful liquid as he grunted in surprise.

  What in Hellwinds?

  He forced his eyes to open and looked down to encounter soft hair matted by the rain pattering around him. The scents of blood, burning flesh, and wild, spring forest met his nose, and he realized the soft weight atop him consisted of Isabelle Andersen.

  “Isabelle!” Jonarrion sat up, grabbing her body with him as she bonelessly rolled down to his lap. Movement to one side made him look up, and he recognized the figure as Fae.

  “What have you done to her?”

  “I have done nothing, Dragon.” The man looked down his nose at him. “But you’d do well to respect and cherish my daughter because she has saved your scaly existence and bonded herself to you in the process.”