“Okay, okay.” She snatched her foot away and sat up. “I don’t have as much experience as Papa, but I know a thing or two.” She pointed at him. “And your detailed questions about the Lysuhóll dig had me wondering what exactly you were looking for. I couldn’t do anything while cooped up in here. Even though I understood your concern, I had to take the chance of going to the museum.”
“I’m still not pleased about that.” He glanced at Thorsson, who looked away hurriedly.
“Don’t blame Thorsson. I begged him not to say anything, and he knew it was a risk worth taking.”
Balthazar pulled her close.
“I took the artifacts out and looked them over carefully. Only the vase had something relating to your story. I had found three sets of runes on the bottom when I catalogued it and deciphered them, but thought nothing of it. When I talked to Thorsson about going to the city to look for clues, I saw those exact runes on his sword. It was a long shot, but I believed the stick figure on the vase and Thorsson were related. I remembered finding evidence that a Viking keeps a piece of his defeated enemy in order to increase his strength. And what’s better than a dragon scale blended with a Viking’s prized possession?” She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. “Thank God I managed to put two and two together before Ti showed up.” She trembled. “And told Papa to stay home.”
He nodded. “And what about you, Thorsson?” he said. “Did you figure it out too?”
“Unfortunately I wasn’t as quick-thinking as Miss Haraldsdóttir,” Thorsson admitted. “It was only when she yelled at me to strike you that I understood her meaning.”
“I’m confused about something,” Lancelot spoke up. “Dragons don’t take hostages. We usually kill first and negotiate later.”
Eva looked smug. “I convinced Ti I should be his hostage.”
Balthazar blinked. “How in Odin’s name did you convince him to do that?”
“His ego. Ti told me he could smell your scent on me. I gave him the hostage idea so that he could rub it in your face.” She shrugged. “Kill me in front of you, then destroy you. The idea appealed to him.”
It certainly would. Balthazar knew Eva was intelligent, but this… “Go on.”
“It was the only way I could think of so that I could be here and give Thorsson the hint in case he hadn’t figured it out in time.”
“How did my scale end up in Thorsson’s sword?”
She shrugged. “Luck? Fate? Who knows. His ancestor found it and kept it for himself. Had it hidden within the pommel of his sword and passed it down to his descendants. It seemed obvious that he believed in the myth about keeping a piece of an enemy. It’s hard to say, but he certainly knew the scale’s importance.” She smiled at Thorsson. “You held the answer all this time.”
The big man blushed. “I didn’t know the significance of that last set of runes. Lord Balthazar…”
He held up his hand. “Thorsson, I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. You didn’t know.” He kissed Eva’s cheek. “But with Eva’s knowledge, you have a story to tell about that sword.”
“A sword without a hilt.” He sighed. “I don’t know how I’m going to fix it.”
Balthazar had an idea. “You’re more than welcome to use Dad’s.”
Thorsson’s eyes widened. “Are you insane? I wouldn’t dare.” He hesitated, his face white as a sheet. “Sir.”
He laughed. “I’m not using it. Are you using it, Lancelot?”
His brother didn’t bother to hide his smile. “I’m not using it.”
“There, it’s settled. And I’m sure you’ll find a way of fixing your ancestor’s sword. I just wanted you to know that you have a replacement to use for the time being. I trust that’s sufficient?”
Thorsson looked like he was ready to cry. “It is. Thank you, my lord.”
He turned to Eva. “You took a very big chance.” He paused. “Very big.”
She lifted her hands. “The odds were good.”
“You mean shaky.”
“It was better than waiting for Ti to show up and kill you.”
“I was here too, you know,” Lancelot spoke up.
“I know, but how long could Balthazar depend on you and Thorsson? I don’t understand dragon family drama, but with us humans, the strongest always win.”
Balthazar needed to talk to her privately. “Eva, come with me.” He stood up and reached for her hand.
In the gardens, their fingers entwined as they strolled amongst the fragrance and the beauty, he stopped her. “Eva, I—” He felt his throat swell with emotion and cleared it. “I want to thank you…”
“Stop.” She placed a finger on his lips.
He kissed it, then bent his head down to crush his lips against hers, pouring his gratitude, his passion and his love into that single, explosive contact. He held her for several minutes until she squirmed and drew back, gasping for air. Her full lips were swollen and her brown skin glowed. But it was her eyes that caught and held his attention. Sparkling like jewels, she stared at him with an expression he had only dared dream about.
“I know you need to talk to your father, let him know you’re okay.”
“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s been a strange couple of days.”
Balthazar smiled. “That’s an understatement.”
She smacked his arm. “How the hell should I say it?”
“Tell him we caught the bad guy, and everyone’s safe and sound.”
Suddenly, her expression changed to panic. “Oh my God, the artifacts. Papa’s going to skin me alive when I tell him they’ve been destroyed!”
“The dragon vase is in one piece. Thorsson put it in the living room.” He thought of an idea. “I’ll take the both of you to that village I told you about, if you’re interested.”
“Actually, I was sort of hoping you’d give me one of your jewels from your hoard. That would take Papa’s mind off everything else for a while.”
“I’ll think about it.” But he didn’t need to—he’d already decided on what to give her. A smoky quartz crystal.
“I saved your life,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a slow, leisurely kiss. “Don’t you think you owe me something in return?”
Balthazar growled and kissed her again, the man and the dragon appreciating the warm, willing body pressed hard against his. “Oh, I definitely do, and I’m not lying about that.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hi! This is LC. So a little bit about myself. I've been hooked on reading since an early age, and fantasy and romance books are my favorites. I started writing due to a dare from a friend, and haven't looked back since. I'll be penning stories for as long as I can.
I'm a Supernatural, Defiance and Sleepy Hollow follower, and mad that Constantine was cancelled. And yes, I do love Halloween!
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The Dragon’s Stolen Bride
By Sadie Haller
Heat rating: 3
After years of being held captive by dragon, Freya Stillwell receives the key to her happily ever after.
Prologue
“Brogan, please—”
“I’m sorry Graeme, but it’s been more than half a year with not so much as a hint of her. You have responsibilities at Iron Hill and you’ve already been gone too long. It’s time to let her go.”
Present Day
“Enough, Walter. I’m tired of you continually trying to marry me off. Either go bother someone else or bugger off to the afterlife.”
“But my lord—”
“I mean it. Enough, now go.”
Graeme Penrith, Lord Greymoor, Marquess of Iron Hill, waited for the meddlesome ghost to leave before opening the secret panel in his desk. He reached in and pulled out a lock of red hair and a miniature painting. They were all he had left of his l
ove. He rubbed the lock against his cheek as he gazed longingly at the picture.
As he did every night before retiring to his bed, he cast his thoughts back to that day, long ago. His cock swelled and he slid his hand down the front of his trousers as recalled the moment he tore the fabric of her innocence and made her his.
It had been the most perfect day of his life. They’d left early in the morning and gone for a long walk through the woods. They came across a lovely meadow near a stream where they stopped to rest and eat from the food basket he’d had Brogan’s cook prepare.
He’d offered her the tastiest morsels, and the feel of her soft lips on his fingertips as she accepted them made his cock throb.
He could remember every detail of that day. The softness of her hair as he ran his fingers through it. Her wide grin when she agreed to become his wife. The way her lips tasted when they kissed. Her soft moans as she came when he used his mouth on her. And the snug fit of her body around his cock. He felt whole. She completed him.
He squeezed his cock in his fist with the memory, but it didn’t come close to the bliss her tight heat had created in his body and soul.
If only he’d known what the morrow would bring, he was sure he could have prevented the giant black hole in his heart.
His cock shrivelled as he recalled the horror of the following morning. He slid his hand from his trousers and squeezed his eyes shut against the image.
He’d resigned himself to dying without issue long ago. His love for her was too strong for him to even slake his lust with another woman, let alone marry one. No, it was far better to keep his misery to himself.
He looked out the window into the starlit sky. “Where are you, Freya?”
As always, the answer was silence, but deep down he knew she was alive. Somewhere.
He gently rubbed his fingertip along the picture where her cheek used to be and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Good night, my love.” He let the tears fall as he returned his precious belongings to their secret place.
***
Walter finally slipped from the room, a little ashamed and a lot curious. He shouldn’t have returned after he’d been asked to leave, but there was something in Lord Greymoor’s demeanour that made him sneak back in.
The woman in the painting had been stunning, but unfamiliar. Walter was certain he’d have remembered this one if he’d ever seen her.
Maybe Martyn knew something.
“Bloody hell, Walter, you’re asking for trouble by delving into matters that don’t concern you.” Martyn Watley rubbed his temples and slowly shook his head.
“Maybe so, but I just want to help.”
“Oh well, I guess it couldn’t really make matters worse and what I know is really only rumour, anyway.”
“Rumour has a tendency to grow from a seed of truth…”
“True enough. Apparently, he fell in love with a girl while he was visiting his cousin, the Duke of the Northern Marches. She disappeared without a trace. Greymoor remained behind for a good six months or more searching for her before he was sent home to attend to his responsibilities.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, around six years ago, I think.”
Walter pondered for a moment. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“I did some repair work on some armour for a sellsword around that time. The damage was like nothing I’d ever seen, and when I remarked on it, I thought he’d been having me on when he told me it was dragon damage.”
“Of course he’d been having you on. Everyone knows dragons only exist in stories for scaring children who misbehave.”
***
“And they lived happily ever after.” Freya Stillwell tried to believe the story she told her wee daughter, but as each year passed, she became less and less confident.
“Mama, tell me about my papa.”
“No more tonight, my lovely. It’s sleepy-time.”
“Please,” the small child implored.
Unable to deny her baby any small thing within her power to give, she began. “He is as tall as the trees with hair as black as night. His eyes are as blue as the sky—”
“Tell me something new about him. Something I don’t know.”
“Hmm, let me think. He loves cabbage.”
“Mama, that’s not true. Nobody loves cabbage.”
“I swear, it’s true. Papa loves cabbage.”
“Really, truly?”
Freya hugged her daughter close. “Really, truly. And I will tell you something else. He will love you with his whole heart even though you don’t like cabbage.”
“But if he loves me with his whole heart, what will he love you with?”
“Not to worry, my lovely. He can love us both with his whole heart. That’s what is so wonderful about love. There is always plenty for everyone. Now, it’s time to go to sleep.” Freya kissed the top of Daisy’s head before tucking her in.
“Good night, mama.”
“Sweet dreams, my lovely.”
Freya shuffled across the floor of her prison and sat in the chair next to the tiny window. She stared into the darkness and silently prayed for Graeme to find her.
She clung tightly to the faintest glimmer of hope that she and Daisy would find freedom, but as time passed, she found it more and more difficult to hold on.
She’d tried to escape many times, but she’d stopped as soon as she’d realised she carried Graeme’s baby. Risking her own life was one thing, but she would never take a chance with her own child’s safety.
At least the beast had allowed Daisy remain with her. She’d been terrified when he had discovered her condition. His anger was white-hot and he’d threatened so many unspeakable things. Eventually, his feelings around her pregnancy abated to the point of indifference, but Daisy was his only real leverage and Freya never forgot that.
She was ever vigilant. Always careful to keep the beast’s attention drawn away from her daughter and she did everything in her power to avoid sparking his ire. Of course, there was a side benefit to being compliant—there was a better chance of the beast eventually letting his guard down and presenting her an opportunity to escape with Daisy.
She stared down at the short chain that joined her ankles. Attaching the hobble was the first thing the beast had done after he’d brought her to this prison.
“Maybe this will teach you to keep your legs closed, you filthy slut,” he spat. “Your innocence was supposed to be mine and that bastard, Greymoor, stole it.”
After weeks of the beast letting bits and pieces slip, usually in anger, she’d finally managed to cobble together some sense of the situation.
According to an old prophecy, her virginity was supposed to return the beast to his human form permanently. Now that was no longer possible, and in a fit of vengeance, the beast stole her from Greymoor and meant to keep her prisoner for the rest of her life.
Beyond having Graeme’s daughter, the only other thing that made the situation bearable was knowing she was safe from the beast trying to bed her.
It wasn’t until long after Daisy had been born that she felt sure the beast wouldn’t rape her. He’d hurt her countless times during those first months, and many of those injuries had been so severe, she would have welcomed death with open arms, but he’d never pushed his way between her legs.
She glanced over at the bright light in her life and smiled. If she couldn’t have Graeme, she at least had is baby—a child conceived with so much love. In a perfect world, Freya would unite Daisy with her father, but failing that, she was determined her daughter would be free.
She looked up and blew a kiss into the night-sky. “Good night, my love.”
***
It wasn’t easy, but Walter finally located the sellsword who had claimed his armour had suffered dragon damage. If his mission hadn’t been so serious, Walter might have taken the time to have a bit more fun with the miserable little whoreson.
However, the information he’d gleaned had bee
n too exciting to dally, and he couldn’t wait to share it with the Marquess. He almost went directly to the castle with what he’d been told, but he felt it would be better to go check the situation for himself before getting Greymoor’s hopes up.
Walter recognised the woman from the painting immediately. There was no mistaking that flame-red hair. The surprise was the wee girl at her side.
“Who’s that man, mama?”
“What man, lovely?”
“That man, over there,” the child said as she pointed at the corner where Walter was standing.
“Where? I don’t see anyone.”
This was the first time Walter had been seen when he was positive he hadn’t materialised.
Before the child could speak again, a key rattled in the lock and the door flew open.
Freya pulled the little one behind her body and shuffled them both back into the farthest corner.
“I know you’ve got someone in here, you miserable slut. The brat just said so. You just can’t keep those legs shut, can you?”
“I don’t know what you mean. There’s no one here but Daisy and me, and you know as well as I do, there’s no where for a person to hide in here.”
The dragon blew a long, red stream of flame at what passed for a bed, reducing it to a mound of ashes within moments.
He systematically destroyed what little furniture remained before he stomped from the room and locked the door.
Daisy huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s legs as tears streamed down her face. She peeked out from behind her mother’s skirts and caught Walter’s eye.
He wanted to stay and try to provide some measure of comfort, but that dragon was an unknown quantity and he felt it best to leave. For now.
Flight of Dragons Page 18
