Taken (Dragon Shifter Menage Paranormal Romance) (Dragon Princes Of Endor Book 1)

by Scarlett Grove

  "What do you suggest I wear?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

  "The closet is full of clothing fit for a princess. I will send in your servant to prepare you. I will come back later to escort you to the feast prepared in your honor."

  "Sounds great," I say. I'm not really ready for a party, but hey, he's going to let me out of this damn room.

  He bows with a flourish and leaves. I still don't feel like I have any grip on the situation, but at least I'm making progress with the dragon prince. A few moments later, Uria steps through the door and curtsies deeply.

  "My lady," she starts. "Would you like me to draw your bath?"

  "Sure. That sounds super." I cross my arms over my chest and watch her walk to a wall within my chamber and press it lightly and a panel clicks open.

  "How do you open the doors?" I ask.

  "This bath chamber door is opened with a light push. You entrance door is enchanted to keep out Orgs. It will only allow Endorians or dragon born through when you stand before it.”

  “That’s why I’m trapped in my room,” I say, annoyed.

  She nods uncomfortably and goes to a large copper basin. She pulls a chain from the bottom of the tub, and water begins to bubble up through the hole at the center. It takes a few minutes for the entire large basin to fill with hot water. Uria plucks a bottle from a shelf against the wall and pours sweet-smelling oil into the water. It smells of almonds and lavender.

  "May I help you disrobe?" she asks expectantly.

  "No. That's fine. I can manage. But where is the shampoo?"

  "What is shampoo, your highness?"

  "For washing hair?"

  "Ah. Yes. Hair tonic. Here." She hands me an amber bottle before curtsying again and backing out of the room. "I will wait for you in your chamber and help you dress, my lady."

  "Sure, great."

  The door slides closed behind her, and I sigh. This is weird. I don't know if I like this "my lady" stuff. Yesterday I was a broke photographer with PTSD living in an old RV with my stinky dog. Now I'm somehow a princess. Not how I was expecting the day to go.

  I pull out of my dusty, sweaty clothing and climb into the basin. The water is perfect, almost too hot, and smells like a dream. I settle in, luxuriating in the warmth. This is exactly what I needed. My sore muscles, tired from months of hiking and sleeping in a cramped, lumpy bed begin to unwind. I let out a little moan of pleasure. Maybe I could get used to this princess thing.

  My life back on Earth wasn't exactly going well. My parents died after the farm was foreclosed, years ago. They'd been older when they had me, but losing the farm just made them both give up. They got cancer and died within a year.

  I never had any brothers or sisters. Apparently, I was something of a miracle baby.

  My career is in the toilet. After I left Iraq, totally shell-shocked and pissed as hell, I couldn't cut it at the paper anymore. All the New York bullshit and office politics drove me insane. Literally, I had a nervous breakdown over someone stealing my breakfast burrito out of the refrigerator.

  Well, it wasn't just the burrito. It had been compounding for months. After what I'd seen go down in Iraq, I wasn't in the mood for the pettiness of normal life. I saw a shrink once a week to help me deal with the fucked up stuff that constantly ran through my head. On top of that, I had to deal with skinny, twenty-year-old interns, misogynistic bosses, and being handed one too many puff pieces.

  There wasn't really any way of hiding the fact that I'd nearly lost my mind in the Middle East. Dead babies will do that to you. They brought me back, and my old paper let me go. I got a job at a gossip magazine. It sucked big hairy balls.

  So I quit. To put it more correctly, I rage quit. After that, I bought the RV and decided to do what I'd always really wanted to do, nature photography. Growing up in Idaho, nature was all around, and it inspired me more than anything else. But after college, I got into a practical career. Not that there weren't parts of photojournalism that I loved. It was an intensely exciting and challenging occupation. But after the war...

  I pick up the bottle of hair tonic and rub it into my wet hair, breathing in the fresh scent. I duck under the water to rinse it off. When I'm done, my hair feels so soft, it shocks me. My course, wavy brown hair has never been what I'd call soft.

  After I get out of the bath, I wrap myself in a thick robe hanging on the wall. The plush material wicks the water away from my skin. Standing in front of the door, I place my hand at about the same place Uria had. To my relief, the door clicks open. For a second I was afraid I'd be trapped in the bathroom.

  Out in the main chamber, I find Uria standing beside my closet. The curtains are drawn back, and I can see dozens of dresses within. I peer inside, my feet damp on the warm stone floor.

  "This color would suit you, my lady," Uria pulls a creamy yellow dress from the rack. The bodice is covered in intricate violet embroidery with many of the same patterns I saw on in the cave in Montana. I run my finger over the thread, musing for a moment on the shapes.

  "What are these designs?" I ask Uria. She looks up at me and that "you're an idiot" look flashes over her face. She gets it together and smiles.

  "These are the symbols of your race, lady. Of the dragon born."

  "Oh," I say, actually feeling like an idiot. Why they believe I'm a dragon princess is beyond me. Even the maid is in on it.

  "I beg your pardon, my lady,” Uria starts. “But what happened to you?"

  "I don't know, Uria. I don't know. I seriously doubt that I'm this dragon princess person. But everyone keeps telling me I am."

  "The great wizard Gizmel is never wrong."

  "I'll take your word for it," I say, skeptically. There is a first time for everything, and I'm betting the great wizard is wrong about me.

  She helps me into the dress and works on my hair. The dress, while beautiful, is about a foot too long for me. Uria spends the next twenty minutes patiently hemming the thing at my feet.

  When she's finished with the dress, she works on my face, applying the Endor version of makeup. When she puts it on, it just seems like fragrant oil, but when I see myself in the mirror, I look like I've been to a salon.

  My long brown hair cascading down my back in perfect ringlets while my round face has been expertly contoured into something pleasing. Usually, I just look pudgy and tired. Now, I am beginning to look the part of a princess.

  Uria has lined my eyes with black eyeliner and covered the lids with cocoa-colored shadow. It brings out the swirling, changeable hazel of my irises. My cheeks look high and pink and my skin is clear and golden tan. I actually look...beautiful. I'm stunned. I've never seen myself looking so feminine.

  "Wow," is all I can say.

  "Your ladyship is pleased?"

  "You are some kind of miracle worker, Uria. Jeez. You missed your calling as a cosmetologist."

  "What?"

  "Never mind."

  The door swishes open, and I turn to see Trav enter the room.

  Chapter Six

  He's wearing a black tunic embroidered with thick silver thread. It comes to mid-hip. Underneath, he's wearing tight leather pants and knee-high leather boots. The way his clothes fit, I can see the contours of his body better than ever before. My eyes wonder over his impressive form.

  He's so tall and broad, I almost feel like he sucks all the light out of the room and devours it in his glowing green eyes. My eyes wonder over his defined chest, slim waist and down... The leather pants he is wearing leave little the imagination. My eyes snap back up to his face, and my mouth drops open. Prince Trav is hung like a horse and then some. Holy crap. He expects me to mate with him when he's working with that?

  He looks at me with his constantly pained expression, which is something between impatience and rage. I gulp as goosebumps break out over my skin.

  "This is an improvement," Trav says, inspecting me. He strides toward me and takes my hand, lifting me from my chair. I glance at Uria as if the servant can somehow sav
e me from this monster of a man. She can't, of course, she's in on this whole "you're a princess destined to choose one of the dragon princes" game everyone around here is playing.

  I follow Trav out of the room for the first time since I've arrived. He guides me down the stone walled hallway, and I notice the furnishings for the first time. Everything looks completely medieval.

  We walk down a long winding staircase, and Trav points out the paintings of his many ancestors who have ruled Castle Warren, enumerating their manly deeds.

  We walk through the massive front entrance of the keep and file into a banquet hall. Candelabras hang above the tables, casting a warm glow throughout the room. Rows of tables are occupied by a mass of guests. Most seem to be the smaller type of Endorian, like Uria.

  I scan the room, trying to keep my cool. After spending months alone in an RV with my dog, I'm feeling a little shy. I'm not exactly ready to party with the locals. My eyes flick over a massive form, a man at least a foot taller than even the largest man in the room. My eyes focus on him, and I realize it's Conyac.

  "That bastard," Trav says under his breath.

  Conyac is approaching us, and I can sense Trav stiffen up beside me. "No one invited you, Blackwell," Trav spits out as the other prince bows slightly before us.

  "I wouldn't miss this for the world. Besides, I'm not leaving you alone with the princess for any longer than I must. There are no rules against visiting the other prince during the choosing ritual. I should be allowed free access to the princess."

  "Have a good look. This is as close as you're going to get to her."

  Conyac's lips curl back, showing his sharp canines and his already glowing blue eyes burn brighter. "You have not yet completed hilock with the princess, Trav. She will come to me in two days’ time."

  "We'll see," Trav says and brushes past Conyac, holding my hand tightly. He leads me to the head table where we sit in front of a literal feast. There are roasts of native animal, fruits, breads, vegetables, cakes. The food looks similar enough to our own food that I understand what it is.

  Conyac sits in the table just below our own. Trav eyes him as he heaps food onto my plate and pours me a glass of wine.

  I sip the wine. It's sweet and fruity, so I throw back almost the entire glass before looking up. The princes are still staring each other down, and I roll my eyes. Men. This whole thing is a big mistake. I'm no dragon princess, but they can't get their heads out of their macho competition.

  I put my cup down, and Trav fills it a second time. I nibble at the food on my plate. Once I'm sure it tastes good, I dig in, drinking several more glasses of wine at the same time.

  A musician comes in and begins to play a stringed instrument. He begins to sing. The chords and melody are soft and haunting, making my heart ache for home. Damn. I down another glass of wine, feeling tears threaten to fall from the corners of my eyes.

  After the song, jugglers come in, and the music becomes livelier. I wipe my eyes and tear into another bite of bread. Trav leans over to me and whispers into my ear.

  "How do you like the entertainment, lady?" he asks me. His hot breath tingles on my neck and stokes a fire in me I didn't know had kindled. His body seems to radiate heat next to mine, warming me all the way down to my panties. I bite my lip. My head is woozy with wine. I feel like an idiot for getting turned on like this.

  "It's nice," I say. He grasps my hand. The contact of his skin feels so good; it sends another shudder of desire through my core. I must be drunk. This is the opposite effect I wanted my drunkenness to have.

  Chapter Seven

  Trying to sober up, I eat some cake with pink frosting. It's so freaking good that it makes me want to cry again, with joy this time. The jugglers stand in front of our table, telling jokes and spinning flaming torches between them. I have no idea what is funny, but the Endorians in the room seem to find it all hilarious. I laugh along with them because the laughter is contagious. I'm so drunk.

  Trav leans over and nuzzles my neck. "When I make hilock with you, princess, it will feel more pleasurable than the cake or the wine. I will make your cunt weep for my cock as I lick you until you come." My body had an immediate reaction. I sit up straight in my chair as my nipples tighten into hard little knots, and my breasts swell. I'm suddenly soaking wet as blood rushes away from my brain and into my clit.

  I lean back and look at him. Jesus, who talks like that? A horny dragon prince who wants to save his planet, I guess. "Hold your horses there, buddy," I slur. "I never get busy on the first date."

  He grins at me. Does he know how turned on I am? If he does, I'm done for. I tell my addled brain, even if I give into him sexually, I won't let him mate me. No how, no way. I'm not ready for marriage. I don't even know the guy.

  The festivities wind down, and Trav takes my hand. "Come, lady. I will escort you to your chamber," he says. I feel light headed. My panties are still wet, and my nipples tighten at his touch. Why did I let myself get so drunk? My shrink always told me self-medication was never an answer. She also told me not to use sex as a crutch. Right. No sex with strangers, bad for recovery.

  He takes me upstairs, and we emerge into the upper level hallway. Conyac is standing about a yard away from us, blocking the way to my room. My heart leaps in my throat. Conyac looks sexy as hell in a dark blue tunic and the same tight pants. I can see he is no less endowed than Trav. I gulp. There's going to be a showdown, I can feel it.

  Conyac steps forward but Trav pushes past him. "Get out of my castle, Blackwell, or we will have a problem."

  Conyac grabs my arm and flings me around so that I'm against his chest. I crane my head up to look into his face. He grins, showing his sharp canines. Trav is behind me, grabbing my waist, but Conyac won't let me go. I'm pinned between them as they growl at each other. I can feel both of their cocks pressed hard against my back and belly. I'm so turned on I place bets with myself whether or not I'd let them both take me right here in the hallway. Crap. I'm screwed.

  Finally, Trav yanks me away and whirls me behind him. "This is my time, Conyac. Now leave us."

  Trav hurries me down the hallway and through my bedroom door, where he flings me onto the bed and climbs on top of me. His mouth is on mine, and he slips his hot tongue between my lips. After that show of testosterone in the hallway, I'm melting like butter in the summer sun. I wrap my legs around him, and he begins to push up my skirt.

  Breathless and horny drunk, I groan as he squeezes my breasts and licks my neck. His cock is pressed against my stomach, hard and rigid like a steel rod. I grind against him, totally mindless to everything else. I want to forget it all. I want to forget myself, the war, that I was kidnapped yesterday. I want to let myself go for once.

  He pulls the threads on my bodice and pulls the neckline of my dress apart, revealing my breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth while pulling my skirt up around my waste. His hand is between my legs, and he groans.

  "You are wet, little princess." His voice rumbles in my ear. I gasp as he cups my mound and squeezes. His tongue flicks my nipple and circles around the areola before he plunges his mouth over my breast again. His teeth play against my taut flesh, making me moan. My head is swimming as my body sings for more.

  Trav slips his hand inside my panties and runs his fingers along my wet slit. I don't know why I'm so turned on. I shouldn't be. This is all crazy. As he dips his fingers between my folds, he groans, moving down my body to pull my panties all the way off.

  He's between my legs, his hot breath on my pussy. I run my hands over his cropped hair. It's been so long since I've had anyone between my knees. I should be embarrassed as hell, but instead I'm pushing him harder against my hungry clit.

  "Trav," I moan. He rumbles as he dives into my sex. His long slick tongue flicks between my folds, from my ass to my clit, where he stops and presses harder. In tight little circles, he moves his tongue over my mound. I'm moaning loudly and squeezing his face between my thighs. As I grip the bed sheets behind me, Trav p
ushes my legs open wide.

  I'm so close to coming that I can barely see. He pushes two fingers inside my core, and I explode. Arching my back, I moan as the waves of pleasure wash over me. My nipples are like spark plugs on my swollen breasts, jutting into the air. As the contractions clench between my legs, Trav climbs on top of me, pressing his erection against me.

  "My scent is working on you. It proves that I am your true mate. Now let us make the hilock," he growls.

  His words work their way into my fuzzy brain. His scent is doing what? I feel his cock grinding against me, but a warning signal goes off inside my head. He wants to mate me. Now. Forever.

  I groan and push hard against his chest.

  "No," I say, my voice still slurred with drink. "I'm not bonding with you tonight. I barely know you. I can't believe I let you get my panties off."

  Trav growls and kisses me harder, but I push at him so forcefully, he finally relents and lets me up. "Why are you refusing me, princess?" he growls.

  "For one thing, you kidnapped me. For another thing, I barely know you."

  "I did not kidnap you. I brought you home. It is imperative that we make the hilock. Now." His words are low with an edge of aggression that scares me.

  "I don't think I'm this dragon born princess person you think I am," I say pulling my clothes back over my privates. "You should double check with your wizard. How can I be one of your race? Look at me. I'm human."

  "I admit, your appearance is discouraging. However, I'm beginning to like it. You are so little and soft." He smiles and reaches for my breast. I slap his hand away, and he growls. "My pheromones worked on you just now. That proves you are the princess."

  "I’m drunk. It has nothing to do with pheromones," I say, but I know I'm lying. I'm not the type that just goes to town with a guy I just met, especially my kidnapper. Great. I have Stockholm Syndrome. My shrink would have a hay day with this one. Maybe it is pheromones, but that doesn't prove I'm the dragon-born princess.