Dragon Actually dk-1

by G. A. Aiken

  “I need nothing from you, Bercelak, son of a slag.”

  He stopped moving, his cold black eyes locking on her face. “Since I know for a fact your own mother took a turn on my father’s cock, excuse me if I’m not truly insulted.” One eyebrow raised. “We aren’t kin, are we?”

  “You . . .” Stunned that anyone dare speak to her in such a manner, Rhiannon forced herself to her feet. The screaming in her head became decidedly worse, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t let the arrogant bastard treat her like this. No one . . . absolutely no one treated her like this.

  “Listen to me well, Low Born, don’t think for a second I won’t cut your heart from your worthless hide and wear it on my head . . . like a hat.”

  Bercelak spit out a spell. Flame burst around the dragon and faded, leaving only his human form. And, oh . . . by the dark gods of fire . . . what a human form. Coal black hair reached down his back, sweeping around his narrow hips. Because he was a battle-dragon, his hair was shorter than the royalty he protected. He also had scars. Lots and lots of scars, some in the most interesting of places. One brutal scar was right by his eye. Oh, and his eyes . . . black like his hair. Dark and fathomless, glaring at her from under black brows. But his body . . . she never thought of human bodies as all that pleasing. Especially the male ones. Until now. All those muscles and those big strong shoulders. Everything about him was perfect. His face, his body. His scars.

  She stared at him as he marched over to her, forcing her to back up against the cave wall. She winced, the rocks pricking the soft human skin she’d begun to detest. She felt weak, defenseless.

  How do you humans live like this?

  “Tell me, Princess, do you really think someone is coming here to rescue you from me? I am all you have. Even your mother has deserted you.”

  “She deserted me a long time ago.”

  It seeme d like his naturally hard expression softened a bit at that. “I know she did. It hurt you.”

  She gave a short, cruel laugh. “Nothing hurts me, Low Born. Absolutely nothing.”

  “How is that possible?” And for some reason he sounded as if he truly cared about her answer.

  “When you stop feeling anything, you find it quite possible.”

  One big hand cupped her cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, Princess. But I do want you to feel. I want you to feel everything when you’re with me.”

  Rolling her eyes, “Oh, please, Low Born. Don’t try seducing me.” Planting two hands against his chest, she shoved him back and moved away from the wall. “I’m not a child. I’ve been seduced by the best.” She looked him up and down. “Those of royal blood. And it pains me to tell you that you are sorely lacking.”

  He leaned back against the spot she’d just vacated, his arms crossed over that gorgeous chest. “Does my lack of royal blood truly bother you?”

  “No. It insults me,” she answered honestly. “Are you the best my mother could come up with? I’m not some table scrap to be tossed off to her favorite battle dog. I am of royal blood. The daughter of a king. To be quite honest, I deserve better than you. Now, Low Born, you’ll escort me to the closest exit.”

  He moved so fast, she didn’t have a chance to jump, much less run. His hands slipped around her neck, holding her in place. She thought he’d try to choke the life from her—unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to her. Instead, he towered over her, staring down into her face. His black eyes locked with hers.

  “When I’m done,” his low voice said softly while his face still looked so intensely . . . cranky, “you won’t be able to imagine your life without me. You’ll pine for me, wanting me like you’ve never wanted anything before in your life. You’ll miss me when I’m gone and desire me when I’m right beside you. No other male will ever be good enough. No other male worthy of taking this body and bringing it and you pleasure you’ve only dreamed of. And when you’re coming and screaming my name, begging me to keep you as my own, I’ll Claim you. And your heart and soul will belong only to me. But until that time, princess, you’re not going anywhere.”

  Then he released her and walked away.

  She waited until he was far enough away so he couldn’t hit her and said, “Oh, yes? You and what army?”

  He stopped walking, looking over his shoulder at her. Unable to meet his gaze, she rubbed her eyes with one hand and sighed. “Well that came out terribly wrong.”

  Chapter 2

  Bercelak dropped the cow carcass on the ground and stared at it thoughtfully. Now, if Rhiannon were dragon, he’d merely sear it and they’d feed. But with her being human, at the moment he’d have to adjust. At least until she got her powers back.

  So, using his talons carefully, he removed the animal’s hide, tossing it aside. Then he put the animal on a spit over the pit fire. He chose some of his best and most precious herbs—obtained from the Desert Lands of Alsandair—and seasoned the cooking meat.

  With a sigh, he sat back to watch the flames and think.

  Princess Rhiannon was definitely as mean as he remembered, and it only made him want her more. Not surprising. Dragon males liked their females dangerous. It made the mating that much more interesting and intense. Of course, her calling him “low born” was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  No one had to remind him of his father.

  The other dragon warriors he fought with never understood why Bercelak didn’t flinch during battle. Never showed any signs of fear or panic. If they lived the way he had, they wouldn’t either. But until you were awoken in the middle of the night with, “We’re under attack!” and thrown out of bed by your well-meaning but clearly insane father, you didn’t know what fear was.

  His mother was of royal birth. His father . . . not so much. Which meant no one handed Bercelak a damn thing. He worked for everything he had and he did it with one thing in mind. Crystal blue eyes, long white hair, and a snarl that could scare an army of demons.

  The day he met her—when those gorgeous blue eyes locked on him with such hate—he knew he had to have her.

  “I want his head!” she’d screeched. And for a minute, he thought she’d get it.

  But then he heard, “Oh, leave him be. As usual, my daughter is overreacting.”

  A red dragon, big and beautiful, walked toward him. “He didn’t mean it, Rhiannon.”

  His mother bowed but he continued to stare at the queen. And he knew it was the queen. Just the way she moved and held herself told him that. He’d been in awe.

  She’d motioned for her guards to release him and smiled, showing her fangs. “Shalin’s son.”

  Now free, he immediately bowed. “Yes, my Queen. Bercelak the Black, Son of Ailean.”

  “Yes. You look very much like him. So handsome.” A red claw with pitch-black talons reached out and caressed his jaw. He felt his mother stiffen beside him and knew this was for her benefit more than his. For years Bercelak had heard how the queen had taken one turn in his father’s bed and had never forgotten him. Nor had she forgiven him. For the very next morning he’d left the then-future queen to meet with Bercelak’s mother and the queen’s one-time friend, Shalin. Who, if the story was to be believed, threw an ax at his father’s head when Ailean found her.

  Up to that day, Bercelak never believed any of the stories. His low-born father with a dragon princess? Not bloody likely, he used to think. Still . . . one look at the female before him and he wondered if perhaps all the stories were true. For she looked at him with something he could not name. Perhaps something he did not want to name. At fifty winters, he was much too young for such deep thoughts. . . .

  “Tell me, Son of Ailean, what is your life’s dream? Wizard? Warrior? Sword maker? What is it you think of when you lie awake at night?”

  He answered honestly, unable to lie to those dark blue eyes. “Of glory and wealth. Of power.”

  “I see. So you may look like your father, but his aspirations had never been as lofty.” She glanced at his mother, but he
didn’t realize until years later what that look meant. Then she turned and walked off.

  “You shall stay here, Son of Ailean,” the queen casually tossed over her shoulder. “You shall train to be one of my battle-dragons. You will protect this throne and me and anyone else I deem worthy.”

  Then she was gone. Up the stairs to her private chambers.

  Her daughter stomped her foot and glared at him, before marching off in quite a rage.

  Once activity began again in the court, he heard his mother mutter under her breath, “I hate that bitch with every fiber of my being.”

  Still . . . his mother left him there when she returned home. She had no choice. After that, the queen’s daughter treated him like so much trash caught between her talons. And the more she did, the more he knew he’d do anything to win her. The meaner she was, the more deadly he became. Soon, with the moniker of Bercelak the Vengeful firmly in place, he’d led the troops into the war against the lightning dragons . . . the barbarians. Barbarians they may have been, but worthy opponents. The war lasted decades, but when the smoke cleared, Queen Addiena’s throne stood secure and she graced him with the new title of Bercelak the Great. Fair enough. He’d earned it and had the scars to prove it.

  Now he wore the elaborate armor of Battle Lord, Dragonwarrior Leader, and Queen’s Champion. He had the attention of every female from the lowest born to some of the most important royalty. And although he found pleasure among those scales, he knew there was only one whom he wanted for life.

  “I must feed. I’m starving.”

  Pulled from his reverie, he looked at the princess and frowned.

  “You put on clothes.” She wore a bright blue robe she must have taken from his treasures. It covered her from shoulders to feet. Although the color of her robe brought out her eyes, he liked seeing her naked. Then again . . . hiding those delicious full breasts and gorgeous ass from his view was probably for the best. At least for now.

  “This skin is so fragile. . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know how they tolerate it. Being so defenseless. At least forest animals have fangs or claws or, at the very least, good instincts. Humans have none of these things.”

  He shrugged. “A few do. They vary.”

  “You like them?” She didn’t sound haughty, merely curious.

  “Not really. I find them treacherous and painfully annoying. Although made with the right seasoning, they are very tasty.”

  She nodded in agreement. “This is true.”

  Of course, he’d only been joking.

  With a quick shake of his head, he said, “Why, Princess, did you just agree with me?”

  Startled, she blinked. “Uh . . . no. No, of course not.” She turned away from him, walking over to a boulder. She sat on it and looked at him, her head held high. “I’m hungry. I await food.”

  He had to give it to her. She certainly didn’t let a change in her current circumstances faze her for long. “Then you best get that rump in gear. The potatoes and vegetables are over there. There’s a pot to cook them in and fresh water. Good luck.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You . . . you expect me to cook food?”

  “I did the hard part. I went down to the farm, scared the little farmer, and took his cow. Then I removed its hide, the cow’s not the farmer’s, placed it on the spit, and now watch it while it cooks. The least you can do is cook some vegetables. We’ll eat like humans. With plates and utensils . . . and a table.”

  “But I don’t know how to cook.”

  “Then you best learn, Princess. I’d hate for you to starve.”

  She despised him. Rude, arrogant, low-born dragon!

  Was this to be her life from now on? Trapped in this human body, forced to cook food for an angry-looking peasant?

  Couldn’t her mother have just killed her instead? Wouldn’t it have been kinder?

  “I don’t see that beautiful ass moving, Princess.”

  She glared at him, about to tell him to go to hell, when her stomach rumbled. By the gods! What was that sound? Was she dying?

  She looked down at her stomach, her hands clasped over it, and for the first time ever, she heard Bercelak laugh. Even more shocking . . . she kind of liked the sound of it.

  “You are merely hungry, Rhiannon,” he said kindly. “Do as I ask and we’ll eat soon enough. I promise.”

  Groaning in annoyance, she slid off the boulder and walked over to the pit fire. As he said, he had potatoes and some other vegetables out beside a large pot filled with water. Another bowl of water beside it. Crouching down, she studied the food in front of her. In fact, she studied the food for about five minutes, until she heard the low-born lean his long body over and, his snout right behind her, say, “What, exactly, are you doing?”

  She ignored that shudder his low voice elicited in her body. Dammit, she had to ignore it! “Deciding my next plan of action.”

  “To cook potatoes, you need a plan of action?”

  “Everything in life needs a plan of action, Low Born. I just don’t randomly do things and hope everything turns out all right.”

  “But where’s the excitement in that? The fun?”

  “Fun?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “When do you ever have fun?”

  “I have fun,” he snapped. “In fact, I’m a very fun person.”

  “Really?” She turned and faced him. “And what do you do for fun?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Do most of those things involve killing something?”

  “On occasion,” he grumbled.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well what do you do for fun?”

  She shrugged. “I enjoy when the villagers near my den run for their lives.” She grinned. “All that screaming.”

  He shook his head, the tip of his snout brushing against her human body. “I guess that’s something.”

  The low-born leaned back, returning to the carcass. She had to admit, at least to herself, it smelled delicious. And, dammit, so did he.

  “I must say, Princess, I’m surprised you haven’t been able to shift back yet.”

  She shrugged. “My skills have always been weaker than my mother’s.”

  “That seems strange. White dragons are known for their powers.”

  “Well, apparently I’m the exception to the rule.” She stared at the potato. Odd-looking vegetable. “My Magick has always been weaker and I’m much smaller than most dragons. One of the wizards who trained me called me the runt of the litter.”

  “That’s a cruel thing to say. I can kill him for you, if you’d like.”

  Rhiannon barely bit back her smile of surprise. No one had ever offered to kill another for her—at least no one she ever believed. But she believed Bercelak. “No. No. That’s not necessary. He merely spoke the truth.”

  “Well, there’s truth and then there’s just being a right bastard.”

  “You know, you’re not . . .” She stopped herself abruptly, but the dragon’s black eyes were on her in a second.

  “I’m not what?”

  “Well . . . you’re not quite what I expected.”

  “And what did you expect?”

  “To use your words . . . a right bastard, I guess.” Definitely not one who would cook her a meal. And he hadn’t yelled at her once. She really expected him to be much more . . . brutal. Brutal and deadly and he wouldn’t be happy until she was crying . . . which she would never do.

  “That I can be . . . during battle. I don’t feel the need to be that way when I’m home.”

  Squeezing the potato to see if it was juicy like fruit, she muttered, “There are some who say you’re cruel. Heartless. And not just to our enemies.”

  “And who says these things?”

  “You want me to tell you so you can go and hunt them down? I have not forgotten that before you were Bercelak the Great you were Bercelak the Vengeful.”

  “Do you know how I got that name?”

  “No.” And she shouldn’t care, but sh
e was kind of curious.

  “Because of Soaic.”

  Ahh, Soaic. She’d taken a turn with him once. It was all right, but nothing that she’d write down in a diary. Plus, he feared her. They all did. To be truthful, her reputation wasn’t much better than Bercelak’s, and she had yet to wake up with the dragon she’d gone to sleep with. They slipped out like they feared she’d wake and simply kill them for her amusement.

  “Aye. Soaic.” She shrugged. “He has had much to say about you.”

  Bercelak poured liquid over the cooking carcass. “That’s what I thought. You know that scar Soaic has on his right hind quarter? The one that even his scales can’t hide?”

  “Aye. He received that during the battle of—”

  “He received it when I ripped him open from hip to claw.”

  “Why would you do that?” Not knowing what else to do with the stupid potato in her hand, Rhiannon dropped it into the water.

  “Did you clean that first?”

  Growling, she stood and turned to face him. “Did you tell me to clean it first?”

  “You’ve truly never cooked for yourself before?”

  “Not only am I a princess—so I don’t have to—I’m a dragon. There’s a universe of cattle at my disposal. Why would I waste time cooking anything? Ever?”

  “Have you never spent any time around humans? At all?”

  “Only when I talk to them before feeding. But I don’t do that often. I find when they start sobbing it’s harder to have a peaceful meal.”

  He chuckled at her words. Bercelak had never laughed at anything. At least that was the rumor in court. But she’d gotten him to laugh twice. She did. Rhiannon bit the inside of her mouth to stop from smiling with pride.

  Bercelak shifted, grabbed a pair of black breeches, and pulled them on.

  She frowned, confused at why he was putting on clothes. He saw her expression and shrugged. “Trust me, Princess. This will be much easier if I’m dressed.”