by G. A. Aiken
He laughed. “Yes, Annwyl. It’s bloody brilliant.” Fearghus leaned in and nuzzled her neck, his fingers brushing her hard nipples
She giggled as she pushed his face away. “That’s not an answer, Dragon!”
“Oh, you actually want an answer. I thought you already had your mind made up.”
She shrugged, a less-than-innocent smile on her lips. “I do. I was just being polite.”
He stared at her, then shook his head. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
He stretched out next to her. His hands behind his head. “I mean no. I don’t think so.”
Annwyl pushed him. “Why not?”
Now he shrugged. “Just don’t feel like it.”
Annwyl crossed her arms in front of that gorgeous chest he’d never stopped thinking about, “Really?”
“Annwyl, I’ve been alone for well over a hundred years. I’m used to being on my own. I think it will take some . . . convincing on your part.”
“Convincing?” She raised an eyebrow. “How much convincing?”
“Well, I am a stubborn dragon. Very stubborn. We’re looking at hours, if not days of convincing . . . or years.” He looked into her green eyes. “Perhaps a lifetime.”
Annwyl stretched out across his chest, her head propped up on one arm. “I guess I best get started then.”
“I guess you better, wench.”
Annwyl kissed him then. And Fearghus never let her go.
CHAINS & FLAMES
G. A. Aiken
Chapter 1
“You demanded my presence, Queen Addiena?”
The queen didn’t even look up from her book. “Is it so hard for you to call me Mother?”
Actually . . . yes it was. “You demanded my presence, Mother?”
Sighing, the queen laid down her book and looked at her oldest daughter. “How I do love that sneer.”
Rhiannon, First Born of the Dragon Queen, First Born Daughter, White Dragonwitch, and heir to the queen’s throne, sat back on her haunches. She brushed her long white hair out of her eyes and stared at her red-haired and red-scaled mother. “Can we just get this over with? I have things to do.”
“Really? Like what?”
Damn. She really didn’t have anything to do; she just didn’t want to be here. Rhiannon and her mother had never gotten along. Never learned to tolerate each other. There was even a story passed among the queen’s court that when freshly hatched, Rhiannon bit her mother on the neck when she tried to cuddle her new daughter. But Rhiannon didn’t believe that for one second. True, she believed she bit her mother, but she didn’t believe her mother had tried to cuddle her.
“What I have to do is my own concern. Can we just speed this along?”
“Fine.” Her mother moved forward a bit and Rhiannon’s entire body tensed at her approach, especially as she watched the queen’s guard follow. “I’ve made a decision.”
Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed. “About?”
“You. It’s time for you to be mated. To be Claimed. And I’ve chosen your mate. One of my finest warriors. Bercelak the Great.”
Snorting a laugh, Rhiannon stared at her mother. “Bercelak the Great? Don’t you mean Bercelak the Vengeful? And that low-born lizard is your choice of mate for me?” She laughed louder, harder. “You have gone mad!”
Her mother’s blue eyes glittered dangerously in the lowlit chamber. “He’s the one I’ve chosen. He’s the one who shall Claim you.”
Rhiannon’s laughter died in the face of her mother’s cold expression. “What? Why?”
When the red dragon only stared at her, Rhiannon exploded. “You callous, deceitful bitch!”
Her mind screamed when she thought of Bercelak the Vengeful. A Battle Lord of her mother’s court, everyone knew Bercelak as dangerous, mean, and generally unpleasant.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him smile to anyone . . . except her. And it was only once. Constantly he watched her, ignoring the rules of rank, until finally she told him in all honesty to stop staring at her like a horse cooking on a spit or she’d rip the horns from his head. He’d only smiled at her. For the first and only time, he’d smiled. When she’d threatened him. She did not take that as a good sign.
At the time, she’d feared she’d have to protect herself from a forced Claiming. They were rare, but they happened. Then the Dragon Wars began. A battle of dragon against dragon in pursuit of power. As her mother’s champion, Bercelak led that war and she hadn’t seen him since.
But the wars were over, her mother’s reign secure. And apparently, as reward for his loyal service, her mother planned to hand Bercelak her.
“I’ve made up my mind. We’ll have a ceremony at the next moon to celebrate your union. You will attend. You will look beautiful. And you will let him have you.”
“I know why you’re doing this. I know what you’re up to.” She hated the desperation in her voice. She hated her mother.
When the queen only stared at her, Rhiannon continued. “You fear I’ll take your throne before you’re ready to give it up. You’re afraid if I mate with someone not loyal to you, I can have it all . . . and you’ll have nothing. So you hand me over to that piece of trash!”
“Why, Rhiannon. That’s a horrible thing for you to believe about your loving mother.”
She said it so flippantly that Rhiannon knew she’d been right. Her mother feared her. Feared the loyalty she’d built up among the other dragons and in court. She feared her Magick skills, still weak, but growing excessively—and surprisingly—strong.
Her mother feared her. And for that the bitch was willing to hand Rhiannon off like a human slave.
Rage blinding her, Rhiannon lashed out at her mother with one of her claws, but her damn guards, who protected the queen’s life as if it were their very own, were there before her forearm barely left her side. They shoved her back. Her! A princess!
“You’ll not do this to me, you old whore!” she screamed, unable to control herself any longer. The hurt and pain eating away at her like a parasite. “I’ll take your throne . . . I’ll take your power and your treasure! And I’ll leave you to rot!”
Cold, crystal blue eyes stared at her and she knew she’d never find mercy there. Never. “You’ll regret this, little bitch.”
“Go to hell.”
Rhiannon took several steps back until she stood a good distance from her mother and those insane guards of hers. Then she turned and stormed off.
She’d regret nothing. But she would make sure her mother regretted everything.
Bercelak the Great, Dragonwarrior of the Dragon Queen Throne, Ninth Born Son of Ailean the Slag, Ruling Commander of the Dragon Queen’s Armies, and on and on and on, marched through the place he’d grown up in. Unlike most dragons, his first home had not been a cave . . . but a castle.
He stalked through the halls, nodding in greeting to his many siblings as he passed. Including himself, there were fifteen of them. Some mated. Some not. Some already with their own offspring. Before entering his father’s home, he had to shift to human and put on human garb. His father, Ailean, insisted on it. For reasons unknown to any of them, their father loved being human. Not for part of the time, like some of his kin and, at times, even himself. But all the time. He only turned back to dragon to fight or to fly somewhere quickly.
To this day, Bercelak had no idea how his mother, a beautiful dragoness of royal blood tolerated the old bastard. He was loud, rude, and crude. Growing up with him had been a horror to every male offspring he had. The females fared much better, but as they came into full age, they found that having a slag as a father worked against them when time to mate came along. Everywhere they went, their father’s reputation preceded them.
Now Bercelak had to face the old bastard and he didn’t know why. Ailean had demanded his presence, sending four of Bercelak’s brothers to bring him back. Not wanting to kill his own kin, Bercelak had finally agreed to return to the castle. But he wanted this
over with so he could go home. Now that the wars were over he had plans to make and his father was delaying him.
He stormed into his father’s study, then winced and turned away. “Think you could get off my mother long enough to tell me why you demanded my presence?”
“When did you get so shy, boy?” Bercelak heard his mother slap his father, which she seemed to do often, then he could hear her getting off the desk Ailean had tossed her up on and pulling her clothes back on. For Ailean, his mother stayed human. Bercelak just didn’t know why.
“Put your clothes on!” he heard his mother hiss and he shook his head. The bastard lived to embarrass him. He did a good job of it, too.
His mother’s hand rested on his shoulder. “My son.”
He turned and looked down into her beautiful face. “Mother.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m glad to see you.”
A corner of her mouth quirked up. “Really? I have to admit that with all of my hatchlings, it’s hardest to tell with you.”
“Boy.” His father, who finally pulled on his leggings, leaned against the desk. Why the old bastard insisted on calling him that, Bercelak would never know. He wasn’t human and he was no “boy.” But still, his father called him, more than any of his brothers, “boy.” Most likely because he knew how much it irritated the living hell out of him.
“Father. You sent for me.”
“Aye. Word came from the queen today.”
His mother stiffened beside him. She always did that whenever a mention of the queen came up.
“About?”
“Princess Rhiannon.”
His heart stopped in his chest. “What about her?” Although he was afraid to ask. The acrimonious relationship between mother and daughter had almost taken on legendary proportions. And Rhiannon was barely a hundred and twenty-five winters. Gods, could the queen have finally done something to her?
“You are to have her.”
Bercelak frowned, which seemed amazing even to him since he frowned most of the time. But this made him frown more.
“What does that mean?” his mother asked before he had a chance. “He is to have her?”
“It means that the queen wants you to mate with her daughter.”
“Over my dead—”
“Shalin,” Ailean cut her off. “This isn’t your decision. It’s the boy’s.”
“Yes, but—”
“I know how you feel about Addiena, Shalin. But, again, this is Bercelak’s decision. Not yours. Not mine. Nor the queen’s.” Silver eyes focused on him. “If you don’t want her, tell me now and I’ll fight the queen on this. I haven’t seen her in centuries, but I’m sure I can still be quite”—his father grinned—“persuasive.”
Shalin snorted and turned away, but his father continued, “But I wanted to give the option to you. What is your decision?”
He had no decision to make. He’d made it long ago the day he saw the white dragoness. He was barely fifty winters and she was already fifty-two. An older dragon. He’d never been to court before and he’d accompanied his mother this time. He made his first misstep as soon as he entered the Queen’s Hall. He stomped on the snowy white tail of a princess. Her rage was instantaneous and without waiting for an apology, she sent the tip of that tail directly for his eye.
What few knew, but eventually learned, was that all of Ailean’s children were raised . . . well . . . differently than other hatchlings. Bercelak couldn’t remember a day when his father didn’t come jumping out of somewhere dark, grab his tail and toss him across the room. Not to be abusive—although it was—but because he wanted his offspring’s reflexes to be better than anyone else’s. And, to Bercelak’s annoyance, it worked. While other dragon warriors were caught off guard or had run from fear during battles, Bercelak never flinched, never feared, and he definitely never ran. Not ever. Instead, he destroyed any and all in his way until they finally gave him the title of Queen’s Battle Lord. The highest rank a low-born warrior dragon, such as himself, could hope to obtain.
So, on that day, when he saw that razor-sharp tail point coming for his face, he reacted as he would with any of his kin; he grabbed hold of that tail and swung, flinging the princess and heir to the queen’s throne across the Queen’s Hall and right past her mother.
As the queen’s guard took firm hold of him, he thought for sure he’d die that day. But the Queen . . . she had other plans. And, to be honest, didn’t seem to care how he’d treated her daughter.
But he did care. After that, he tried everything to get Rhiannon to forgive him. To get close to her. But when she saw him, she rolled her eyes and went the other way. If he tried to speak to her, she yawned in his face and left him standing there.
Eventually, he left her alone. But he never gave up wanting her. And that hadn’t changed. That would never change.
“I’ll take her.”
His mother gripped his arm. “Bercelak—”
“It’s all right, Mother. I know what I’m doing.” He looked at his father. “I’ll take her.”
Ailean grinned. One of those big, toothy grins that annoyed Bercelak to no end. “Somehow I thought that’s what you’d say. She’ll be waiting for you at your den.”
Bercelak and Shalin passed glances. He’d thought for sure he’d have to go get her himself. This was Princess Rhiannon after all. And she never let anyone forget it.
Bercelak tilted his head to the side. “She will?”
Rhiannon took to the air as soon as she walked out of Devenallt Mountain. She flew and flew, determined to make it back to her own den before nightfall. She had much planning to do since she knew her mother would probably plan a counterattack of some kind immediately. But her den was a stronghold. With the help of wizards loyal to her, she’d put up so many Magickal and physical defenses around her cave home, there was no way her mother would ever be able to break through.
She flew past forests and towns. Castles and farms. Few saw her. The ones who did screamed in terror and ran away. Gods, she must be angry. She didn’t even go down and snatch a quick meal from one of the villages or simply revel in their screams.
She headed to open sea, moving quickly since the wind was with her. She neared a large mountain when she felt it. A small tickle in her stomach. She knew it was her mother and immediately chanted a spell to raise stronger barriers around her body. But before she could get them in place, the power of the gods passed through her like a flash of lightning . . . and then she was falling.
Desperate, she tried flapping her wings, but nothing. Then she looked down at herself . . . and she screamed in horror.
Human. Her mother had shifted her to human. And she was unable to shift back!
Seconds before she hit the ground, she had one last thought. . . .
Oh, shit.
Bercelak stared at the naked female crumpled in front of his den. White hair, matted with blood and dirt, covered her except for the small odd brand on her bare shoulder.
Leaning in, he sniffed her. No . . . she wasn’t born a human. She was in fact a dragon in human form.
Well . . . there goes dinner.
He pushed her with his snout, forcing her onto her back. When he saw her face, his heart stuttered in his chest for a second time this day.
Rhiannon. Princess Rhiannon. His Rhiannon.
He looked her over. She was bloody and broken. He looked up at the sky and realized that’s where she’d dropped from. No wonder the queen said Rhiannon would be waiting for him at his den. This was where she’d dumped her daughter.
This can’t be good.
But it didn’t matter. He finally had her. He had his Rhiannon. And he planned to keep her . . . forever.
Screaming. Why is there all that screaming?
Rhiannon moved and the screaming became decidedly worse, but she also realized the screaming was in her head.
She put her claws to her forehead, hoping to push back the pain . . . except something didn’t feel right. Her head felt different. So did her claw
s.
By sheer will, she opened her eyes and stared at her talons. Except they weren’t her mighty white talons she proudly kept sharpened. They were—she frowned in confusion—they were nails. Human ones. So was the claw those tiny useless nails were attached to. Not her mighty claw, but the claw of a human. A . . . a hand.
She looked down at herself and realized she hadn’t been dreaming. Human. Her mother had turned her human. She’d shifted to human many times, but only to fool the humans around her . . . well, and to see if her human form was remotely attractive. Otherwise, she lived her life as a dragon and never understood those who didn’t. Why anyone would want to be human was beyond her understanding... And damn it all, she was brilliant!
Knowing she needed to calm down, Rhiannon took a deep breath and slowly released it. Once she’d cleared her mind and the screaming in her head lessened, she said the chant that would shift her back. Bright colors of Magick sparked off her human body . . . then nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“She took your powers.”
Rhiannon turned her head and looked over at the black dragon watching her.
“Bercelak,” she sneered. Of course, where else would her mother make sure she dropped but at the feet of the one dragon Rhiannon never wanted to see?
I hate that bitch.
“Rhiannon.”
Growling, she forced her human body to sit up. “You will . . . Low Born . . . call me by my title. I’m Princess Rhiannon to you.”
He stared at her for a moment with his typical frown—did he have any other expression?—then he snorted. “Princess you may be. But at the moment you are one without powers or claws.” He stood up and took several steps toward her. “You are human. No wings. No way to escape me. It was a good thing I recognized you or I might have had a lovely meal of you with some parsley. And potatoes.”
Two more steps brought him closer, and Rhiannon ignored the pain in her head and backed up.
“All that soft skin and those breakable bones,” he fairly crooned. “We can’t let you out in this cruel world so defenseless, princess. You’ll need me to care for you. To protect you. Just as I had to do today. If it hadn’t been for the skills my mother gave me and what I learned on the field of battle, I may not have been able to heal you.”
